


One

by ladybattousai



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon Compliant, Crowbars, F/M, Family, Found Family, Melancholy, Redemption, Slow Burn, Superheroes, Urban Fantasy, Vigilantism, Yakuza
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 58
Words: 156,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24089116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladybattousai/pseuds/ladybattousai
Summary: Released from the ancient seal that saved his life, Sesshoumaru wakes up to the end of his kind and a future that leaves him lost and out of place. Yet under the guidance of the Higurashi family, he soon realizes that even though he may be the last youkai, that doesn't mean he's alone.
Relationships: Higurashi Kagome/Sesshoumaru
Comments: 294
Kudos: 148





	1. Transcending the Spider

**Author's Note:**

> Author Note (Sept 1st, 2020): Just got a new job, so unfortunately that means a slow down in publishing chapters, especially as I get the hang of the work schedule and load. Have patience!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story at its core is about family. The ways in which family brings us together, and at the same time, the ways in which it can fail us, leaving us vulnerable and damaged. Both trauma and hope are intertwined here. There are no content warnings, but rest assured that all events are treated with respect and without exploitation.

Chapter One: Transcending the Spider

With her paper lantern bouncing, Kagome rushed down the tunnel, its path twisting between clusters of stalagmites. Hampering her along the way were the scattered bones of youkai, and she kicked them away as she ran. They clattered as they skipped over the ground, stealing not a single thought from her. All that flooded her mind was dread, drowning her with the fear that she might be too late. Her fingers white from gripping it, a sheathed sword was tight against her breast. She hoped that she wasn't too late.

Sweat beaded on her neck, its saltiness itching her skin. Her priestess clothing was stifling despite the cold, autumn night. Then his piercing yell ripped through the air and a chill shot down her spine, leaving a field of goose bumps in its wake. Her run became a sprint.

Opening wide, the tunnel ended with a huge cavern, its vaulted ceiling high above her head. Its faceted walls glimmered with a surreal sheen, reflecting the firelight of dozens of oil lamps that were set throughout the cave. Sprawling from one end to the other was a spider's web of crystal. At the center, lay partially dissolved youkai, their petrified bodies caught in the glasslike strands. She recognized many of them. The three-eyed cow and its rider. The countless wolves and their prince. The tiny flea who had long since turned into glittering dust and had blown away. Her eyes however, avoided one small bundle. With his small arms wrapped around the tiny cat youkai, the terror on his frozen face was unforgettable, its image scarring her mind forever without any need to be reminded. No one died peacefully anymore, especially children.

"Kagome-sama!"

She looked up, her pace slowing as she searched for who called her. Standing still amid the bustle of other familiar faces was Miroku. She ran up to him.

"Is it done?" he asked, exhaustion hitching his voice.

"I did just as Bokuseno said," she assured, remembering the withered magnolia's final words. "The entire blade has been doused in Goshinboku's sap."

"Good."

"Miroku!" another yelled.

Turning around, he looked for his wife and found her bounding down the crystallized body of an enormous female inuyoukai as if it were steppingstones. Without compromising her agility, Sango barked orders as she leapt.

"Kohaku, check his binds again! He's weak, but still dangerous. We don't want him getting loose."

She jumped off the paw and landed on the back of a big wolf demon with a tinier demon beside it, still gripping its two-headed staff.  
"Rin, keep fanning. The fumes will dull his senses and the pain."

With one final leap, she was beside them and a bit breathless.

"Houshi-sama, please check the seals one last time. This is our last chance. There's no one left to save if we fail now."

"Of course, Sango," he said, and he leaned in close to give her a fleeting kiss on the lips. Then he was gone, heading towards a warding barrier of paper seals at the center of the cavern.

Kagome looked at Sango. Dark circles were heavy under her eyes with fine lines creeping out toward her temples. The last year had easily aged her ten. She was a mother now. But despite her growing brood and domestic lifestyle, she was still a huntress to the core. So, she had fought the futility, the battle too desperate to grieve those who had been lost to it.

"You look miserable, Kagome-chan," she remarked.

Kagome blinked, surprised.

"I wonder if I look just as bad. I think I feel just as bad," Sango added, cracking a difficult smile. "If not worse."

She tried to speak, to reassure her or at the very least, to return the smile, but nothing came.

"It's that bad, is it?" she said with a sigh, and then she gestured to the sword in her arms. "Is it done?"

"Yes."

Sango nodded. "Take it to him. He's waiting."

Swallowing down, Kagome walked away, venturing towards the center of the web. As she neared, she passed by Rin kneeling on the ground. A young woman now, she huddled over a kettle, furiously fanning the sweet vapor that billowed from its spout. Fresh tears streaked down her cheeks, following the stained paths of their predecessors.

Ahead, standing in a field of candlelight, she saw a heartening silhouette clothed in firerat robes and haloed by an unruly mane of hair. Her pace quickened. She could hear his voice as he talked, its raspy edges steeling her nerves. Then her heart slipped a notch when she approached him. His black hair still shocked her, reminding her that the white was long gone. The smooth crown atop his head only added to her sorrow.

"Inuyasha," she called to him.

His back remained to her.

"Inuyasha," she called out louder.

He continued to talk, ignorant of her presence until a deeper voice interrupted him, struggling as it spoke.

Inuyasha spun around, surprised.

"Kagome! I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."

She shook her head, blinking back the tears that reddened her eyes. "Don't worry. I wasn't speaking loud enough."

Shame crept over him, and he reached up to touch his human ears. "I'm sorry."

"Please don't be. It's all right. Tenseiga is ready." Her fingers ached as she opened them, and she held the sword out for him to take.

Frozen by awe, he stared at it for a long moment before finally accepting it.

"If we use this, there's no going back," he whispered, his words hitching in his throat. "If it's a mistake, we won't be able to undo it. It really will be the end."

The voice growled behind him. "Stop wasting time, you deplorable half-breed."

Turning to the side, he looked back.

Bound to a pillar of stone was Sesshoumaru. He stared at Inuyasha, his cheeks gaunt and his eyes hollow. Bare-chested, he wore only his pants and boots with the rest of his raiment strewn beside him and the twisted pile of crystal that was once his pelt. Feathery veins discolored his porcelain skin, condensing over his heart to create the image of a spider.

"The seals are ready," Miroku spoke up as he approached with Sango and Rin not far behind him.

Slipping down the crystal webbing behind the pillar, Kohaku landed softly near the Sesshoumaru's bonds. He tugged on the ropes decorated with paper streamers and adjusted them until he was pleased with their strength. Then as quickly as he had descended, he climbed back up. The attacks were sudden and unpredictable now and to be near the daiyoukai when they struck was to invite death. Sidling along web until he was positioned behind Inuyasha, Kohaku jumped down to join Sango and Rin.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Sesshoumaru growled, sweating profusely. A violent shiver rolled through his body.

"It might not work," Inuyasha said.

"This is the only way left. It doesn't matter if it works or not. If doing nothing means death, then failure cannot be worse."

The comfort of Kagome's hand touched Inuyasha's shoulder, and he turned to find her beside him. Then she faced him, her hands slipping around him as she pulled him close for a hug.

"It'll work," she promised in whisper. "I know it will."

He looked down into her gray eyes, searching for hope.

She nodded. "Go."

Swallowing hard, Inuyasha summoned the unassailable courage that defined him, and he stepped towards Sesshoumaru. As he unsheathed the sword, Rin collapsed to the ground. Sobs wracked her delicate frame and Kohaku picked her back up, steadying her against his chest. She buried her face into him, unable to watch any longer.

Inuyasha's dark brown eyes rose from the sap-slicked blade to meet Sesshoumaru's golden gaze. He watched as the fragile control his brother had clung to began to crack. His shivering grew into convulsions. His eyes flickered red and the creases knotting his brow deepened as the first wave of pain struck. Flexing hard, his muscles twitched as he strained, and the pulsing veins that ran under the surface of his skin threatened to burst. Malignant, the spider on his chest swelled, its jagged legs growing longer to wrap around him. Then they tightened, crushing his chest to leave him gasping.

"Do it!" Sesshoumaru stuttered, and then he roared, his howls of agony echoing in the cavern. Shards of crystal fell, ringing as they shattered on the ground.

Inuyasha stood frozen as the screaming continued.

The spider grew.

"Do it!"

"Sesshoumaru, maybe we can…"

"Do it now… brother."

Buried beneath the pain and the force of his command, there was a plea. He was begging. That no matter what happened, he wanted it to end. He wanted it to end now, and he needed him to do it.

Raising the sword, Inuyasha pointed the trembling tip towards Sesshoumaru. His focus stayed on him as he readied himself to take one final step.

"I'm sorry, brother."

Thrusting forward, he plunged the sword through his chest until he felt the tip driving hard into the stone behind him. Stunned, he let the sword go, his hands shaking. Impaled cleanly, the spider receded in size and he laughed in disbelief. Sesshoumaru hadn't turned into crystal. It had worked.

"Sesshoumaru," he blurted out, and his relief faded as he watched his half-brother's eyes tarnish.

The daiyoukai coughed, blood spilling from his mouth as it began to seep from the wound through his heart. Tenseiga had truly cut him. A strange smile grew on his lips. His muscles softened and he slumped, his body held up only by the sword that pierced him.

"NO!" Inuyasha yelled, and he grabbed Tenseiga's hilt, yanking on it. Embedded deep into the rock, he couldn't budge it, and he cursed his humanity.

"Stop," Sesshoumaru whispered.

"I have to save you."

"I am saved, you half-breed." He coughed a chuckle, and his head dipped, too heavy to hold up anymore.

Inuyasha let the sword go and reached to support him. "You can't-"

"Goodbye… Inuyasha."

In a long hiss, Sesshoumaru's last breath left him, and he went limp. The pain was gone.


	2. A Connection

Chapter Two: A Connection

Kagome hiked up the sun-dappled trail, feathers tickling her insides with excitement. She was so inebriated by zeal that she hardly noticed her panting breaths or her heart racing in her chest. They were almost there. They, being a loose term as she stopped to yell back down the mountain.

"Mama! Souta! Hurry up! It's only a little farther!"

Far below on the steep, wooded slope, her two companions rested on a fallen tree, their water bottles tipped to their lips. They eyed her coolly as she continued to yell, in no hurry even when she abandoned them to climb further.

"I can't believe how much energy she still has," Souta muttered when she disappeared around the bend. "We've been hiking all morning and now it's the afternoon."

Mama smiled and ruffled his hair. "I'm just happy that she has energy, aren't you?"

"I guess."

"Besides, she's used to hiking up mountains. She was doing this for some time not long ago. Remember?"

He nodded.

From beyond the trees, they heard her yell again, her persistence spurring them on.

"Come on, Souta. She said it's only a little further."

He grumbled but slid off the tree and tucked his bottle back into his bag. Mama joined him, putting hers away as well, and then she patted his shoulder as they began their hike yet again.

Ahead, Kagome giggled as she tromped up the leaf-choked trail, the way made by passing animals rather than by people. It was complete wilderness now, but even without the familiar roads she remembered it. The mountains were still the same. A sprawling range, the slopes looked like a slumbering tiger and they were climbing across its head.

She peered down at the sheltered field at the beast's side, hunting for the last vestiges of an old fortress hidden there. Black beside the rich greens, she spied the rotted stumps of hewn wood and the regular angles of decayed foundations. The faint echo of the proud band of exterminators that had once thrived there.

Earlier that morning, she had guided Mama and Souta to it, the place where Sango and Kohaku had grown up. They had explored the remnants of the different buildings until they found the courtyard. A blooming meadow now, together they burnt incense to honor the many that had died there.

A pang of guilt struck deep, hitching her breath. With Miroku by her side, she wondered if Sango was buried there somewhere among the flowers. Then the she shook her head, driving the thought from her mind. She had promised herself that she wouldn't think about them that way. They were alive and happy in the time that they belonged.

A dark shadow caught her eye through a veil of trees, and her moment of sadness evaporated. They were at the tiger's eye.  
"Mama! Souta!" she shouted, "I found it! We're here!"

Without waiting for them to answer, she disappeared into the dense foliage. Heading towards the shadow, she tromped through the pine needles and brushed aside the undergrowth. 

Out of breath, Mama and Souta finally made it to where she had vanished. After exchanging looks, they too entered, following the path that she had forged.

She weaved her way through the last of the undergrowth to stumble out into a clearing. Edged with craggy rock, she wandered through it, puzzled. She was at Midoriko's Cave, wasn't she? Hardly eroded at all, the mountainside looked right, but where was the cave? Her eyes pouring over the rock, she was soon joined by her family. In silence, they stood together.

"So, where's the cave, Kagome?" Souta asked finally.

"I don't know," she replied, frowning. Then her expression brightened, and she walked towards the mountainside. "It all looks familiar except for this spot. There's a boulder here that wasn't here when I visited last, and I think it's exactly where the opening is supposed to be."

Stepping in close, she inspected the boulder. Her fingers glided over it until she discovered something soft and fibrous. Sweeping the dirt away, she revealed the weathered remains of a hemp rope. Curious, she gave it a tug and it disintegrated in her hands.

"It looks like an old seal," Mama observed as she leaned in for a look. "Meant to keep people out…"

"Or to keep something in," Kagome finished.

She nodded.

"Looks like something already got in," Souta added. The two women turned to find him kneeling beside the boulder. With a stick in hand, he prodded at a clump of pine needles, brushing them away from a hole that had been dug between the rock and the mountainside.

Joining him on the ground, Kagome peered into the gap and at the scratch marks that carved it. "It looks like it was done by an animal. Caves make popular dens."

The others agreed.

"Well, I hope it's still not in there." Slinging her backpack from her shoulders, she set it down on the ground by the mouth of the hole. A moment later, she was on her hands and knees, shoving it through while she crawled in behind it.

"Is she crazy?" Souta asked, dumbfounded. "Who knows what's in there?"

"Then you can keep an eye out. If any animals come, make sure they don't go in the cave after us," Mama said with a gentle smile and then she took off her backpack. "Kagome, wait for me! I'm coming too!"

"All right, Mama!" she answered, her voice muffled by the rock.

Souta stuttered, his eyes flashing from his mother to the encroaching forest that surrounded them. When he looked back, she was gone.

Shrugging off his backpack, he cursed under his breath. "Damn it."

"I heard that," Mama announced cheerfully as she crawled. Reaching the end of the hole, a beam of light found her. She smiled. She then unzipped her bag, fumbling through the pockets until she felt a metal rod.

"Have you got it?" Kagome asked.

"Yeah," she replied, pulling out her flashlight and clicking it on. Once she was on her feet, she dusted off her knees and looked around. 

“It’s so dark,” she said, astounded by the black void wherever the light beams didn't touch.

Hearing scuffling behind her, Mama moved out of the way so that Souta could get through.

"Do you need any help?" she asked.

"No, I'm all right."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am!"

Kagome giggled. "Souta's fine, Mama. He considers himself the man of the house."

"Does he? Your grandpa might have something to say about that."

His flashlight flickered on. "Let's go."

"I don't think you need your flashlight, Souta.” Kagome teased, “You can just go by the glow of your blush."

The girls laughed and Souta grumbled.

Their tormenting done for now, they began to walk through the cave. Refreshing against their skin, the cool air brought relief after trudging through the summer's heat outside. This weekend vacation had been quite a surprise for all of them. Tending the shrine for the season's regular influx of guests, they were often too busy for a break, especially now when they needed it the most. 

Mama looked at Kagome, her daughter's flashlight beam flitting all over as she chattered on about the cave's history. She hadn't seen her this energetic in months, not since the way through the Bone-Eater's Well had closed. It had hurt her to see her so depressed, especially when she realized that she didn't know how to fix it. Then last week she thought that perhaps if Kagome could share and revisit someplace in the past, she wouldn't feel like she had lost something. It was all still there, just a little faded now. Her friends had jumped at the chance to help, agreeing to look after both the shrine and Grandpa. And as a result, they were now delving into the sacred cave where it had all began, sharing the adventures and creating some of their own.

"Being a little insulted, Midoriko tossed Inuyasha out. I swear, sometimes he was such a…” She paused. “Mama, are you listening?"

"Yes, of course," she replied.

Kagome frowned, unsure of her sincerity. Her mother was so difficult to read sometimes. Rather than continue, she walked on instead, her beam settling on the path and the stalagmites that peppered it. The thrill of finding the cave had subsided, replaced by an unexpected ill feeling. There was something out of place. And as she thought about it, she realized that it lacked the soothing presence that she remembered, leaving her to wonder if it was still Midoriko's cave. Had she vanished completely with the destruction of the Shikon-no-Tama? Was she finally at peace?

Sparkling white, something on the ground caught her eye.

"I see something," she called out as she walked over to it. Stooping to a crouch, she set her flashlight down. Then with a finger, she prodded the pile of white dust before scooping up some into her palm. "It glitters."

"Yes, it does," Mama agreed as Kagome poured it back and forth between her hands, the grains dazzling in the light. "What is it?"

"I don't know. I don't remember it being here before, but it reminds me of sand."

"Only brighter."

"Yeah, and it's finer and lighter too."

"Like glass?"

"Crystals," Souta said.

The two women turned to face the boy.

"This is a cave," he added.

Kagome frowned. He had a point. "But I don't remember any crystals let alone their dust. None of this seems right."

Shining her flashlight down the tunnel, their mother pointed to the scattered drifts ahead. "Either way, there's more of it deeper inside."

Dumping the dust back on the ground, Kagome stood up. 

With trepidation, they walked on. Glimmering against the black rock, islands of white swelled into branching peninsulas until the last of the ground was swallowed up. It was firm under their feet, sinking only enough to create fine imprints as they passed.

Soon, the tunnel opened up into an enormous cavern. Overcome with awe, they gasped as they entered. Rippled in waves before them was a shimmering sea of white. Imagined currents of crystal broke against dark monuments of rock and through a crack in the ceiling, the summer sun shone down, reflecting nuances of lavender amid the white. Warmed directly beneath the rays, a stone pillar stood. Something was in front of it.

Mama leaned forward, whispering to Kagome as she pointed at the pillar. "What's that over there? Is that where the priestess is? Is that Midoriko?"

Kagome shook her head. "It can't be. Midoriko was suspended by the demons she battled. I don't think she's here anymore. I can't feel her presence."

"Many years have passed."

"I'm sure she's free now, and because of that I'm happy that she's not here for me to show you."

"Then this must be something new. Something that happened after you left."

Kagome nodded, and she took her first step out into the cavern. Close behind, Mama and Souta followed, relying on her experience to keep them safe.

As she approached the pillar, she realized that it was something human that stood against it. Then a moment later, she recognized it as a naked man. No blush of embarrassment came to her cheeks though. Paler than alabaster, it was a statue, a breathless marvel of art that would be wasted in a museum display surrounded by fluorescent lights and plaster walls.

When she met the stone platform beneath it, Kagome stepped up, leaving her family behind as she went on to investigate.   
The statue was strikingly clean compared to the rest of the cave, and she looked up at the blue sky through the crack in the ceiling, thinking of the rainwater that must pour down on it with every storm. Her gaze returned to the statue and her brow furrowed. Protruding from its chest was a rusted sword. With slumped shoulders and a drooping head that hid its face, the statue seemed to hang from the blade. Cascading around its head were long locks of hair as brilliant as the crystal dust. She reached out to touch them and gasped when her fingers glided through the strands, leaving them to sway languidly in the air.

"He's real!" she blurted out, her voice awash with excitement. She had found someone from the past. She had a connection. Her caution was gone, and she clasped him on either side by the jaw. Cold but soft, she could feel his flesh and bone. And slowly, she lifted his head up, his hair parting. She finally had a connection.

A terrified gasp escaped her, and she stumbled back. Losing her balance, her foot slipped off the edge of the platform and she fell, landing in a spray of dust. Caught between coughing and groaning, she struggled to sit up. Mama and Souta rushed over to her side.

"Are you all right?" they asked, her mother helping her to sit up.

Kagome nodded fervently, her coughs subsiding. But her face was still white with fear.

"So, what's wrong? Do you know who it is?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"It's… It's Sesshoumaru."

Mama and Souta looked at each other. "Who's that?"


	3. Shortened Vacation

Chapter Three: Shortened Vacation

"We have to go," Kagome muttered to herself, not hearing their question. Without wasting another breath, she clambered to her feet and began to search the crystal dust. Spying her flashlight, she hurried over and picked it up, her trembling hand steadying once she had it.

"What's going on, Kagome?" Mama asked, watching her scramble.

"We have to go," she repeated.

"Why? Who is he?"

"We have to go."

Reaching out with a gentle hand, she took her by the arm. "Who is he?"

Her expression startlingly blank. "He's Sesshoumaru."

Mama shook her head, perplexed. "But who is that? I don't know who Sesshoumaru is."

Kagome blinked, jarred back into the moment. Swallowing, she tried to think of an explanation, but instead crafted perhaps one of the biggest understatements of her life. "He's Inuyasha's half-brother."

"Oh," Mama sighed and finished with a smile, "That doesn't sound bad. Inuyasha was a nice boy."

"He's his full-demon half-brother, mama," she explained. "He's not a hanyou and he's definitely not nice. We have to go." Tugging at her hand, Kagome tried to pull her mother away as she attempted to escape back to the tunnel. 

Mama held fast. "If he's Inuyasha's brother, then he's family. We can't leave him like this."

"You don't understand. Sesshoumaru is dangerous. He's probably been sealed here for a reason."

"Wasn't Inuyasha sealed to Goshinboku for a reason too?"

"That was different-"

"Look at him," Mama interrupted softly. "Really look at him."

"But…" Kagome began, her argument dying. Prey to a reassuring smile, she finally relented and gazed up at the pinned daiyoukai. Pale like fine marble, again he reminded her of a statue. Lines of sinewy muscle carved his masculine frame with the kind of perfection that would make any sculptor weep. And as she poured over him, she felt an unmistakable force draw her in. Stripped of his armor and clothing and exposed to the elements, a strange sensation of vulnerability struck her. A quality she wouldn't have ever associated with him. He was powerless.

She relaxed and her mother's hand fell away. At the center of his chest was the scar of a spider, its body stabbed through mirroring his. Drawn to it, she climbed back onto the platform. Again, her hands began to tremble, but she ignored it as she reached out to touch his chest. Tracing the spider with her finger, it had a rough feel, reminding her of a scar or a brand. 

Then her hands slipped through his hair to seek his face. Finding his jaw again, she cradled it on either side and lifted. Silvery strands fell away, revealing the face that had ushered thousands to their deaths. But the terror that tightened in her chest melted away as she continued to stare at that same face. His markings, striking and exotic in her memories, had faded away, leaving him plain. Sunken and empty, this wasn't the face of a ruthless youkai lord, but of a man broken deep down to his soul.

"We have to get him down," she said, looking back at her family.

Mama nodded.

Taking a small step back, she began to scan his body, searching for an easy means to free him, but it soon became clear that there was only one way. Her eyes settled on the rusted sword.

"The sword's the only thing holding him in place. I think if we pull it out, he'll be free."

Met with agreeing nods, she let his head droop back down. Moving to the side, she reached up and grasped the sword's hilt. The ancient silk woven around it turned to powder in her hands, but her grip remained solid. With a deep breath, she summoned every ounce of her strength, starting a mental countdown. And when it reached zero, she pulled. Straining as if she were moving a mountain, she struggled to pull out the sword. Frustrated by the poor angle, expletives spilled from her.

"Kagome, do you need some help?" Mama asked, taking a step forward.

"I got it," she ground out, and she sputtered a laugh of relief, "I can feel it moving!"

With a bright ring, the sword snapped off at the hilt. Caught by surprise, Kagome stumbled a few steps to the side before regaining her balance. Her chest heaving and her cheeks flush, she looked down, staring at the hilt in her hands in disbelief. Jagged where it broke, she fingered the end of the blade, flaking off crumbs of the brittle steel. "Damn it."

"Kagome?"

"Yeah, mama?"

"Rather than pulling it out, maybe if we break off the sword closer to him. Then we can just lift him off it."

Kagome paused, considering her point. "That might work."

Mama let her backpack drop onto the ground before climbing onto the platform to stand beside her.

"Be careful. The edges are still sharp."

She nodded. Opening her hands, she placed her palms against the flat side of the blade. 

Kagome did the same, and together they began to push. Their efforts were slow and steady as they tried to avoid making his chest wound bigger. Soon the sword started to bend, and then with another sharp ring, it snapped again. Clattering as it struck the platform, the piece bounced away to land in the dust.

Smiling, the two women looked at each other and then at Sesshoumaru. Leaning in close, Mama peered into his wound before prodding it with her finger.

"I can feel where it broke off," she said, her fingernail tapping.

"It's not that far. We could just slide him off."

They exchanged agreeing looks, and then they each took a side, sliding their shoulders under his armpits for support.

"Are you ready?" Mama asked.

"Yeah."

"Lift."

Bracing themselves under him, they began to slide the him forward. Heavier than they expected, they grunted in amazement when he was finally freed, the weight of his body buckling their knees. As gently as possible, they let him collapse onto the platform. Once he was down, the women straightened up and looked at each other, grinning over their achievement.

"You both know that he's lying on his face, right?" Souta said dryly. "How's he supposed to breathe?"

Dread flashing over their faces, they knelt quickly to turn him over onto his back. Pale and lifeless where he lay, he looked no different than he did on the pillar.

"I hope he isn't dead," Mama said as she rubbed his cold cheek with her hand. "Was Inuyasha like this when you unsealed him?"

"No," Kagome replied, shaking her head, "He woke up right away and grouchy too."

Moving in close, Kagome bent over him until her ear hovered just above his mouth and nose. Her gaze fell to his chest, and in the deafening silence of the cave, she listened and watched. Time seemed to unravel as she waited with every passing second lasting longer than the last. Then she laughed as she saw the slight heave of his chest rising.

"He's breathing!" she announced, but her smile sobered when she noticed tiny bumps of gooseflesh spreading across his skin. "He's cold. We have to warm him up."

Slinging his backpack from his shoulders, Souta set it down onto the ground. After unzipping it, he began to rummage through it. Big and plush, he pulled out a blanket.

Mama looked at the deflated backpack and laughed. "I wondered why your bag was so big."

Souta shrugged as he walked towards them. "I thought we were going to have a picnic."

"Wait," Kagome told him, and she looked at her mother. "Do you have a coat in you backpack?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Souta, go get the coat, please."

"Why?"

"We need to save the blanket for the stretcher."

"Oh, that's right," Mama said. "He can't walk on his own."

Digging it out fast, Souta brought his sister the wool coat.

"I need both of you to go out and find two long sticks that we can use as poles to carry him," Kagome asked. "They have to be straight and without any little branches on them. I'll stay back and watch him."

"All right. We'll be back as soon as we can. You'll be fine until then?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

Flicking their flashlights on, Mama and Souta hurried toward the tunnel. 

Still sitting on her knees, Kagome watched them vanish into the darkness. Alone now, her attention fell to Sesshoumaru and she unfolded the heavy coat. Familiar with what it took to care for wounded comrades, she pulled him onto his right side and slipped his arm through the sleeve. Making sure it was tight against his shoulder; she tucked the rest of the coat under his back. Then she pushed him away, rolling him onto his other side so that she could sleeve his left arm.

When she was finished, she returned him to his back. Looking him over, she pursed her lips with dissatisfaction. Barely covering his chest, her mother's coat was a snug fit, but he needed something more. She climbed to her feet and sought her old, yellow backpack. Finding her jacket at the bottom of the largest pocket, she pulled out it and returned to his side. Laying it over his hips, she rolled him like before so that she could tie the sleeves around his waist.

Pleased now, she sat back onto her bottom and sighed. She felt better now that he was covered. It didn't seem right for a lord to be exposed like that, for him to be so defenseless. Her eyes drifted to his placid expression and her earlier fears returned. He wouldn't be this peaceful forever. He would wake up eventually, leaving her to wonder what he’ll do when he does. Will he be dangerous? Will he kill people? Will she have to purify him?

She tucked her knees up to her chest and rested her arms over them. The future weighed on her mind as she imagined the worst and what she might have to do to stop it. Perhaps she should have left him pinned to the pillar to spend an eternity in slumber.

"Kagome!" Mama called out cheerfully, a long tree branch balanced on her shoulder. "We're back!" 

Behind her, Souta trudged along, dragging his through the crystal dust.

Looking somber, Kagome stood up to greet them.

"Did something happen? Is he worse?"

"No, he's fine," she assured, smiling meekly. "At least, he's the same as he was."

"Oh. Well, we found some straight branches. Do you think they'll work?"

"I hope so." She climbed down from the platform and picked up the blanket. With a shake, it unfolded, and she laid it out on the ground, thankful that Souta brought such a big one. "Lay the poles parallel to each other on the blanket."

Once they set them down how she asked, Kagome rolled them across almost to the hemline of the blanket and adjusted the distance between them so that they were just a bit wider than Sesshoumaru's shoulders. With the pole ends sticking out just beyond the top and bottom edges of the blanket, she was pleased enough to begin. Taking the excess she had left on one side, she laid it across the poles until it barely reached beyond the furthest one, and then she tucked it under. Careful not to disturb them, she grabbed the rest of the blanket and folded it over in the other direction. Catching on, Mama picked up the furthest corner and helped keep it straight.

"What's next?" she asked.

Kagome hummed, casting about until she spied Souta, "Come here. We're going to need your help." She looked back at her mother.

"Mama, you're going to have to pick up that end while I pick up this side. When we do, Souta, you'll have to pull the extra blanket under the stretcher so that we can keep wrapping it around."

"All right," he agreed.

"Ready, mama?"

"Yes."

Together, the women picked up the stretcher, careful not to dislodge the placement of the poles or the folds. Crouching low, Souta slipped under the stretcher and gathered up the excess fabric. Next, he pulled it across; making sure it was even and tight before he stood up again.

"Good job. Now layer it over the top again and keep going around until there's no more blanket left."

"Got it," he said and laughed. "It's sort of like folding a letter."

"It is," Mama added. "Where did you learn how to make a stretcher? Was it from your friends from the past?"

Kagome shook her head. "I read it in one of the survival books you got me."

Mama smiled, her eyes glossing.

"Sesshoumaru's weight ought to keep it together while we carry him, but we have to be careful not to let it come apart beforehand and to take it slow when he's in it."

With Kagome leading the way, they carried the stretcher to the platform and set it down beside the daiyoukai, making sure it was aligned with his body.

"I'll take the shoulders," Mama said as she crouched down by his head, "You take the feet."

She nodded and grabbed him just above the ankles. "Now?"

"Now."

Grunting, they both lifted and then sidestepped. When they were certain that he was centered, they set him down onto the stretcher.

"It's our moment of truth," Kagome said, taking her two pole ends with her mother following suit with her own.

After a deep breath and a ready word, they hoisted him up. Heavy but sturdy, the stretcher held, and the women headed down the platform, walking slowly toward the tunnel.

"Souta, please carry our bags, would you?"

"Yes, mama."

Soon they were surrounded by darkness with Souta and his flashlight leading the way. Though it was hard going, neither Mama nor Kagome felt the need to complain. After all, heroes never complain about what had to be done. After a while, sunlight filtered into the black, guiding them to where they had crawled in. They dragged Sesshoumaru through the hole, and once they were out, they patiently rewrapped the stretcher.

Beyond the tattered treetops, the sun retreated to the horizon, dyeing the sky in rich hues as the day faded into night. Having to take frequent breaks to rest and drink, their hike down the mountain was slow, and they soon gave up any hope of reaching the hotel before it was dark. As he had done in the cave, Souta led the way with his flashlight. Behind him, the exhausted women dragged their feet, their eyes bleary and their arms numb. Then at long last, the amber glow of streetlamps peeked through the trees.

"We're almost there," Kagome blurted out, stumbling as she tried to walk faster.

"I want a hot shower," Mama murmured next.

"So, do I," Souta agreed, "But I'll let you go first when we get back to the room."

"That's why you're my favorite son."

"I'm your only son."

"Wait," Kagome interrupted.

"What?" Souta asked.

"We can't go back to the hotel."

"What? Why?"

"We can't take him there. We have to go home right away."

Reaching the embankment beside the road, the others stopped where they were, shocked and confused.

"What do you mean we can't go back to the room?" Souta whimpered. "You don't make any sense. We can't go back to our house right now. We rode a bus to get here."

"Then we have to rent a car. They're still open."

"Just explain to us why, Kagome," Mama asked.

"Humans and youkai don't get along. There were quite a few times we were chased out of a village just over Inuyasha's ears let alone over Shippou or Kirara."

"But that was the past."

"Exactly and now it's the present and who knows how people might react. It could be worse than dirty looks and a few curse words."

They looked at her, hurt as if she had just eaten the last manjuu.

With a sigh, her mother conceded. "You're right. Souta and I will go check out of the hotel and get the car. We should have just enough. We'll be back soon."

The women set the stretcher down in the grass. Then with a drooping Souta in tow, Mama crossed the street, heading towards the hotel. Alone again, Kagome sat beside Sesshoumaru. Every so often, she reached over, letting the back of her fingers graze his cheek. He felt warm and she smiled. Once she let her touch glide to his neck where his heartbeat thrummed, indisputable proof that he was alive.

Headlights flashed over the road, followed by the pebbly sound of tires rolling over gravel. The car veered close, pulling up onto the shoulder before coming to a stop. Opening their doors, Mama and Souta got out.

"Open up the back doors," Mama told her son as she walked down the embankment. She looked at Kagome. "Are we ready?"

"Yeah."

Each taking a side, they picked up the stretcher and hauled it up to the car, the long rest in between making their efforts harder than before. Over the bench seat, they dragged him, bending his legs to make him fit into the cramped sedan.

"Should we save the poles?" Kagome asked as she pulled them out.

"There's nowhere to put them and we have plenty of brooms at home."

Nodding, she tossed them away.

"Souta, go sit up front," Mama ordered, and then she addressed Kagome. "You'll have to sit in the back with him. It's a long drive and you'll have to make sure he makes it all right."

"Okay," she replied and climbed in. Leaning over the back of the front seat, Souta watched as she lifted up Sesshoumaru's head and slid her lap underneath him. He had so much hair and she gathered up as much as she could to keep from sitting on it.

Finishing her walk around the car to make sure the doors were shut and that nothing was forgotten, Mama finally got in. 

"Souta, sit down and put on your seatbelt please," she ordered. Once she heard the click of the belt, she shifted the car into gear, and they slowly began to accelerate down the road.

Whizzing by, light from the streetlamps filled the car, offering Kagome glimpses of the sleeping face in her lap. With each flash, an unsettling feeling sunk deeper into the pit of her stomach, a mix of fear and uncertainty over what the next few days would bring.


	4. Guidance from a Cat

Chapter Four: Guidance from a Cat

Adrift in dark water, Sesshoumaru floated in a sea of emptiness. An unseen chain pierced him through his back, anchoring him as the black tide pushed and pulled. For ages, he hung there, tethered, until even the memories of sunlight faded into the void. Instead, there was only the deep.

Then without warning, the chain snapped. As it fell away into the abyss, he slowly began to rise. The currents carried him up and the water lightened from black to blue. The color was lost on him. His were the eyes of a drowned man. 

Then dazzling rays of light penetrated the water, turning into shards of white as the surface approached. He knew it was only the reflecting sunlight, but it promised freedom with edges sharp like knives. With his strength gone, he realized that he couldn't escape it, and so he did what he knew. He surrendered. Through the blades of light, he rose, listening to the sound of chiming glass as he waited to be cut.

Dark gray eyelashes fluttered open, blinking at a blinding world that had been missing for half a millennium. 

Sesshoumaru's fingertips sought his eyes, and he rubbed them soothingly until the glare subsided enough to reveal shadows and shapes. Above him was a white ceiling, smooth and clean with a strange contraption hanging from its center. It was a peculiar set of glass tubes suspended by bits of metal with a delicate chain dangling beneath it.

Drawing his attention away, a warm breeze brushed against his cheek, and he looked to its source, an open window. The parted blinds rattled quietly, and beyond them, a tinkling ring stirred up thoughts of knives and an endless sea. A glass windchime hung from the eave, swinging lazily as it sang.

A bubbling purr began to rumble, and he looked down at his chest, realizing that the heaviness he felt wasn't natural. Although it was slow, his sense of feeling was returning. Forepaws tucked under its body, a plump cat lay upon him, its slit eyes regarding him coolly. 

Then it gave him a welcoming mew.

Feeling defeated by nothing more than an overfed, house pet, he decided to sit up. Sore and clumsy, he strained to shift his weight onto his forearms. 

Sensing his struggle, the cat hopped down from its roost to sit on the floor beside him. It gave him a bellowing mew, offering encouragement. Unimpressed by the mentorship, Sesshoumaru summoned his strength and pushed himself up until he finally managed to sit up. With his upper body hunched, he stared at the rumpled futon lying over his legs.

He felt something bump against the hand he had braced against the floor. Looking down, he discovered the cat rubbing against his forearm, pleased by his efforts and clearly believing that its support had been pivotal to his success.

Annoyance brewed in him. After all, it might be right.

Deciding that it was best not to think about it, he examined the strange room. Surrounded by plain walls and a tatami mat floor, the space was simple and rather empty. It smelled of lead paint and old wood. 

Then he wrinkled his nose in mild disgust. And it smelled of humans.

The human odors were potent, emanating from sources closer than the walls. Picking up the edge of the futon, he sniffed it lightly. Musty and sweet, it belonged to an old man. Then his fingers felt for the lapel of the yukata robe that wrapped his body. Even though the scent was faded by time, it still bore the faint musk of a young man. The presence of humans was indisputable, but by clothing and caring for him, their intentions were mysterious.

Keen to investigate, he pulled the blanket back, exposing his legs. Although his body was shaky and sore, he gradually felt more in command of it, moving each leg until it responded to his will. When he was ready, he brought his knees up until his feet were under him. Then he pushed forward off his hands, pivoting onto the balls of his feet. Between balanced and wobbling, he maintained a crouch and carefully stood up.

With legs like rubber, he took his first step and stumbled towards the wall. Reaching out with his hand, he landed hard against it with a loud thump. He slid to lean against it, his heart drumming in his chest. For a long while, he stood there, waiting for his pulse to calm down. 

As he waited, his fingers drew his attention next. His claws were gone, lost to the passage of time. A once instinctive feat, he concentrated on his youki as he tried to grow them back, but none of his power surged through his veins. Instead, a foreign sensation spoiled in the pit of his stomach, something that he hadn't felt in a long time. It was fear.

He pushed away from the wall. Heading for the rice-paper door, his awkward stride grew steadier as walking became natural again. He slid the door down its track and revealed a hallway. After checking both ways, he entered it quietly and began to follow it towards what he hoped was the exit. His fingertips grazing the wall, he passed by several doors. His stealth however was constantly interrupted by the talkative cat that followed him and its need to announce his arrival.

The hallway ended in a flight of stairs, and he peered down at the floor below. Muffled by the walls, he could hear people talking and music playing. Blurting out a rapid chatter, the voices changed every few moments. One attempted to convince him that by using her soap, he could get his whites whiter and his colors brighter. A strange offering considering that he felt his hair was white enough. Another then asked if he'd like to feel fresher, but what a pad had to do with that was baffling.

Hearing so many voices vending and yelling, he was frozen by hesitation. Without any youki or strength, he was in no shape to confront what could be hundreds of humans. He sniffed the air as he tried to determine their numbers and location. It might still be possible for him to sneak out. 

His brow furrowed. Despite all the talking and bartering, he could only detect the scents of two males in the chaos. It didn't make any sense. He sniffed again and was met with the same result. Could they hide their scents and thus mask their numbers? What was the point of that if they were going to make such noise regardless?

Soft and slow, he made his way down the stairs. With one hand on the rail, his other was tightened into a fist. Dull nails grazed his palm, leaving him to wonder if he had the strength to defend himself if it came to that. 

His ears perked up. The merchants were silent, their shouts replaced by a woman singing about being lost in love. Bizarre and cheerful, her song was peppered with gibberish, perhaps from a language he hadn't heard before. Then sounding closer than any voice he'd heard yet, an old man began to mutter.

"She's a pretty cute girl," he said, an appreciative tone to his voice, "I like how she shakes her butt."

"Ugh, grandpa," a boy grumbled. "I don't want to hear about what you like again. It makes you sound like some dirty, old man."

"Bah! I don't have much time left, so I ought to enjoy it."

"By looking at girls' butts who are as young as your granddaughter?"

He scoffed. "It's better than looking at old lady butts. They're all wrinkly and saggy."

The boy groaned. "I can't take it anymore. I'm going to get some more tea."

"I want some too,” the old man replied. “Take the tray and refill the pot."

"Yes, grandpa."

"And bring back some of those red bean sweets while you're at it."

The boy sighed. "All right."

Tray in hand, the boy came around the corner, his eyes on the floor as he complained under his breath. And when he looked up, he and Sesshoumaru locked eyes. With a loud crash the tray struck the floor, shattering the teapot.

"Oh shit."

"What was that?" the old man yelled from the other room, "Guess I'm not the only one who has a bad habit. You better get those sweets if you don't want me to tell your mother."

Wide-eyed with shock, the boy gawked at Sesshoumaru. Neither moved nor spoke.

"Souta, don't worry about it," the old man yelled again. "I won't tell your mother about your cursing, after all I've said much worse out in the storage shed."

Limping, the daiyoukai began to back away.

"Sesshoumaru," the boy whispered, his voice trembling.

Made uneasy by his knowledge of his name, Sesshoumaru kept moving, edging down the hallway and away from the boy, the old man, the mysterious vendors, and the singing woman.

"Wait," the boy said louder, and he took a step forward.

Fierce and vicious, he growled in reply.

He froze in place and shouted, "Kagome!"

His call for reinforcements wasn't lost on Sesshoumaru, and he fled down the hallway. In no position to fight, he needed to find someplace safe to hide and regain his strength. If they intended to harm him, he would make them regret it soon enough. Until then, he had to figure out where he was and what to do.

Ahead, he noticed bright sunlight diffusing through another rice-paper door, and he smirked. 

Behind him, the boy continued to sound the alarm, but he paid him no mind when he stumbled into the door frame. Grabbing the handle, he slid the door open and the summer breeze blew in. There was little that they could do now. He was free. 

But as he looked out into the world, for the first time in his life, his jaw dropped.

Behind a paltry veil of trees, a city beyond his imagining hummed. From the vantage point of the hillcrest, he spotted asphalt streets, the tar pungent in the afternoon heat. Bustling across them were giant, metallic beetles, roaring as they went. Massive buildings towered above all of it, and along the skyline, even taller structures reached, their crests mingling with the clouds over head.

Preceded by a bellowing mew, he felt soft fur rub against his calf. Tearing his eyes away from the city, he looked down to see the cat slip past. It hopped out onto the porch and padded down the steps to the ground below. Devoid of surprise or fear, its indifference supplanted Sesshoumaru's astonishment, and he soon followed.

With a hobbling gait, he headed out into the courtyard. There, his gaze roamed over every tree and building as he tried to sort out where he was. An old, iron bell caught his eye and he nodded. He was at a shrine, but that only left him with more questions. It was safe to say that as a youkai lord, he didn't care for them, so to awaken in one was profoundly mystifying. What priest or monk would harbor a youkai rather than purify it?

Turning the corner, he came across an enormous tree. Its branches full and a vivid green, he stared at it, sure that he had seen it somewhere before. Then his eyes brightened as he remembered. Bigger than his memory served, it was the sacred tree, Goshinboku.

Stepping through the gate, he walked up to its trunk and felt the bark with his hand. High up, he spied the elliptical notch left by an arrow in the same place his half-brother had been sealed. 

His brow furrowed in thought as Inuyasha's sealing stirred up another memory, one of the young woman who always seemed to be at his side. He referred to her as Kagome, didn’t he? Wasn't that the name the boy was yelling earlier?

"Sesshoumaru?" a woman called out, her voice oddly familiar and out of place.

'Are my memories manifesting in reality?' he wondered, closing his eyes. 'Has time degraded my mind this far?' Then he opened them and pivoted on his heel to turn around.

Graced with black hair and gray eyes, it was a memory that awaited him. 

"Sesshoumaru, it's me, Kagome."


	5. The Meaning of Knife

Chapter Five: The Meaning of Knife

Sesshoumaru took a step back, edging away from Kagome.

"Wait!" she called to him, taking two steps for his one. "Please don't go."

He paused.

She swallowed, pushing down the anxiety that crept in her throat. As Inuyasha's enigmatic older brother, she didn't know much about him, except that he wasn't above violence when things weren't in his favor. Or even when they were for that matter. She didn't want to fight him. She just saved him.

He glanced at the nearby fence, sizing up its height.

"A lot has changed since the Sengoku Jidai," she warned, finding her voice. "The company of an ally might be nicer than a city of strangers, don't you think? If you stay, I promise to explain everything that I can."

He snorted. "Where am I?"

"Tokyo."

"Tokyo? What's Tokyo?"

"I'm sorry. This region used to be Edo, but it's now known as Tokyo."

He nodded. "How long was I sealed?"

"I don't know. Ever since I wished the Shikon-no-Tama into nothingness, I haven't been able to go back through the well. My family and I just found you a few days ago in Midoriko's cave."

"Strange," he said to himself.

She waited, hoping for an explanation. However, the silence wore on, and her patience thinned. "What do you mean by strange?"

"Show me the well."

Still confused and now annoyed that her question had gone unanswered, she beckoned as she started to walk away. "It's over here. Come with me."

Keeping a slow pace, she led him across the grounds and towards a small shed. Emptiness washed over her as she climbed up the familiar steps, and she slid the old door open. Sunlight poured in, revealing a square well in the shadows.

"It looks familiar," he noted.

"It's the Bone-Eater Well. It's how I traveled from my time to yours.

"How?"

"I just jumped down it. By accident the first time, but I traveled through it continuously for about a year, living my two lives."

"Then you are simply human."

Kagome blushed, embarrassed by his insinuation that she might be something supernatural. She hadn't realized how she might seem to someone who had known her first in the past, and now in the present as well. 

"I'm Kikyo's reincarnation,” she explained. “Since the jewel was burned with her body, I was born with it inside of me. I think because of that, I could travel to your time and back again at will."

"And when Naraku was defeated, you were returned here."

She nodded.

"Strange."

"Why do you keep saying that?"

Keeping silent, he turned around and left the shed.

The first sparks of anger smoldered in her chest and she chased after him. "I've been truthful with you. You should be honorable and do the same with me. What's strange?"

"This has nothing to do with honor, but with respect."

"Then be respectful and answer me."

"I will not," he refused, stopping his trek across the courtyard to confront her. "As a lord, I’m entitled to respect, a courtesy that is undeserving of a nameless human who has yet to earn it. Learn your place or your lesson will be harsher."

Her fury ignited. "I'm not nameless! I am Higurashi Kagome!"

"That’s not what I was referring to."

"If that's not it, then you mean your lordship. That by being a daiyoukai, you believe that you're better than everyone else? Well, I've got news for you. It might only be a few months for me, but it's been five hundred years since Naraku's defeat and nothing is the same. There are no youkai here. Not one. Humans rule everything. We do what we want now, and for once, you need to respect us." 

Her voice lowered as she let her last words cut. "You're a lord without people. A lord of nothing."

Breathing hard, she glared at him, victorious. Then her triumph tarnished. 

Shock drained what little color he had from his face. 

Five hundred years pass, and everything he had was a memory. She had gone too far. Worrying so much about him awakening and what he might do had put her on edge all week. She had expected a fight, and when there wasn't one, she started one.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, her eyes softening. "I don't know for certain. There could be some youkai out there that I haven't been able to sense."

"No, you’re correct," he said, "I’m the last one. I’m a lord without people. A lord of nothing."

"No, that's not true…" she began to disagree.

He turned away from her, limping towards the house. Soon he disappeared inside, leaving her alone.

Frustrated and angry at her bullheadedness, she paced, recounting events and how she could have gone about it without ripping an injured man a new wound. She would stitch it up when she saw him next, at least she hoped that she could. 

Looking up, she spied her mother walking towards her, a frilled apron tied around her waist.

"Mama, I screwed up," she admitted, miserable. "He's not awake for fifteen minutes, and I've already made things worse."

Leaning close, Mama hugged her around her shoulders. "Don't be too hard on yourself. A lot has happened to you over the last year and a half. More has been expected of you than should be demanded from anyone, let alone a teenage girl."

"I just wish I had handled it better. Sometimes I forget about the different customs." She looked up, catching her eyes. "I think I hurt his feelings."

"He'll understand," she soothed. "He may be a youkai, but he's still a man and like most, he just needs time to think. You can make amends with him later."

"All right."

Mama smiled. With her arm still around her shoulders, she pulled Kagome towards the house. "Besides, I'm fixing steak in honor of our new guest's recovery. Dogs like steak, don't they?"

Kagome giggled. "I hope so."

"I wonder if he'll be like Inuyasha and love ramen too."

She shook her head and laughed. "Somehow, I think his tastes are probably too refined for ramen."

Mama frowned. "That's too bad. Inuyasha was such a cheap boy to feed."

Soon they reached the porch and passed through the door leading into the kitchen. A rush of savory aromas met them, and Kagome's stomach gurgled with anticipation. On the stovetop, saucepans bubbled, and Mama surrendered her daughter to make sure that none of them had burned. Fresh vegetables were spread out on the counter, each washed, trimmed, and ready to be chopped. Satisfied that all was cooking well, Mama left the stove for the refrigerator and retrieved a paper-wrapped package of meat.

"Can I help?" Kagome asked.

"Of course," she replied, and she gestured to the counter. "Could you finish dicing the daikon while I trim the steaks, please?"

"No problem!" 

Walking to the sink, Kagome washed her hands and searched for her apron in the drawer. Finding it, she tied it on and rolled up her sleeves. Picking up the half-finished radish, she repositioned it on the cutting board and looked for the knife. Not finding it beside the cutting board, she looked around the counter and under the other vegetables. 

"Mama, where's the knife?"

"The vegetable knife?"

"Yeah."

"It should be there."

"I can't find it."

"I set it down on the cutting board before I went outside."

"It's not here. The daikon was the only thing on the cutting board. I've checked all over the counter and I looked in the sink. It's gone."

"I wonder where it went." Mama walked towards the hallway and yelled into the family room. "Souta, did you take my vegetable knife?"

"No!" came a distant reply.

Mama hummed. "If he doesn’t have it, then I’m not sure what happened to it. It's strange."

"Strange," Kagome murmured, and she blanched. "Sesshoumaru."

Bolting out of the kitchen, she ran down the hallway. Focusing her powers, she searched for his presence. He was upstairs. Not sparing a moment to slow down, she made for the stairs and flew up them, taking each step two at a time and nearly stumbling at the top. She was such a stupid girl. How could she tell him that he was a lord without people? That he was a lord of nothing? His title was all that he had left. She was so stupid, and so was bushido. Stupid warrior culture and their death before honor rules.

Attempting to sneak in close to his room, her footfalls softened. The sliding door was cracked open. Through the gap, she peeked in and her hand rose to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Spilled across the floor was silver hair, its strands glinting beautifully in the light.

"Oh no."

Behind her, she felt Mama and Souta walk up. Looking back at them, she realized what she had to do. Even though she didn't want to look, she couldn't subject anyone else to her mistake.

"Wait here," she told them as she reached for the handle. Closing her eyes, she pulled the door down its track and gasped. 

Bathed in the sunlight at the center of the room was Sesshoumaru. The knife still in his hand, he knelt, surrounded by swirls of his shorn hair. With his longest locks reaching his neck, the rest was ragged and uneven where he had cut it.

"Sesshoumaru?" she whispered.

Ignoring her, he looked out the window.

"Sesshoumaru?" she said louder.

Silence.

Taking a step into the room, she called out again. "Sesshoumaru? Are you all right?"

"I am now."

"Because you cut off your hair?"

"I am not a lord any longer," he admitted. "I am a being without a time or a place. I have no purpose. I do not deserve the hair of a lord. Of a warrior. My honor will not permit it." Pushing off his knees, he rose to his feet and walked towards her. 

She backed up until she felt Souta behind her. 

Twirling the knife as he neared, he caught it by the back of the blade and handed it to Mama. "My apologies, Higurashi-san. I took it without your permission."

She smiled, accepting it. "There's no need." She gestured to his hair. "Would you like me to even that out for you?"

Mulling over her offer for a moment, he then nodded politely. "It would be appreciated."

"My scissors are downstairs."

"I will accompany you."

“And how do you feel about ramen?”

“Ramen?”

Brushing past Kagome, he left with Mama. Lingering behind, she and Souta stared at the pools of hair, still mystified. Then Souta spoke up.

"Damn, he's hardcore."

She nodded.

"At least he didn't kill himself."

She nodded again.


	6. The Soul of a Man

Chapter Six: The Soul of a Man

Below their twisting boughs, Sesshoumaru stood beneath a few of the many trees that peppered the shrine. The midmorning sun filtered down through their branches, dappling him and the ground with light. The summer breeze blew and the leaves rustled, a sound as familiar that day as it was hundreds of years ago. The breeze ruffled his hair and caressed the back of his neck. It sent yellowing leaves dancing to the ground.

Taking his broom, he started to sweep them up. The handle felt good in his hands as he gathered the leaves into a pile. The broom was an ancient one. Cobwebbed and dusty, he had dragged it out of the back of the storage shed and let it feel the brush of the ground after years of uselessness.

Sidestepping in a slow rhythm, he swept up more leaves, remembering the hours he'd spent doing it in his youth around the dojo of his master. The memories felt vague, trapped in a fog of time. It'd been so long since he last remembered them.

Approaching footsteps interrupted him. A slow, shuffling gait, they dragged on the right side. 

He snorted. The old man's hip always seemed to be sore in the morning. With him came another noise, the rustle of a broom being dragged.

"Good morning, Sesshoumaru," Grandpa said, his voice equal parts warmth and rasp.

Glancing over his shoulder, he nodded his bow, and began to sweep again.

He chuckled. "That was the most modest bow I've received in years, but then you are the older one, aren't you? Even if you don't look it."

Sesshoumaru looked over his shoulder again, and his attention lingered.

"You're lucky and unlucky," he went on, "Old age takes its time to find you. I'm afraid it snuck up on me. I've been tending this shrine for so long now." With a soft swish, he began to sweep beside him. "The years go by so fast, and I'm only sixty-five. I can't imagine how a year might feel to someone who's lived for hundreds of them."

"The summer is a smile," Sesshoumaru replied after a moment, "The fall is a gasp. The winter is a shudder. And the spring is a sigh."

Grandpa let his broom pause as he thought, and then he chuckled again. "Sounds like a good woman."

Faint even in the sunlight, he smirked.

"Ha! There it is! Just like the summer, you have a smile."

His smirk vanished. "You are simple to please." Again, he began to sweep, but with quick purposeful strokes as he slowly edged away from him.

"The little triumphs are the best ones."

He shrugged.

"I'm surprised though to see you out here. The chores often fall to me. My grandchildren are too busy with their own lives. How can they care for relics from a past that has no place in their future?" He sighed. "Between the internet and cellphones, I feel like a relic for even caring about a few old scrolls and chipped pottery."

Sesshoumaru stared at him blankly. "What’s the internet?"

"I'm sorry. Hmm… well, I don't rightly know, but it seems like it's a huge waste of time."

He nodded, smirking again. "If you believe yourself a relic for that, then I must be one as well."

Grandpa laughed. "A welcomed relic who helps out. I'm still shocked."

"It's familiar work and reminds me of when I was young and first learning swordplay. I was required to clean the dojo every morning. Compared to a forested mountain, this shrine is an indulgence."

"A whole mountain?"

"My master was not an admirer of fallen pine needles."

"Wow."

Sesshoumaru shrugged. "It was my path to discipline, and to do it honored the art that would make me a warrior. It was not a hardship, but a privilege."

"Well, this place isn't a dojo, but I appreciate the honor."

"I have come to realize that it truly is a holy place, and that I still hold a thread of the power I once wielded. You must forgive me. It was an accident."

"What was?"

His broom stopped, and he pointed to the massive iron shrine bell near the entrance. Dark and jagged, a large crack ran its length.

Grandpa’s jaw dropped open.

"I was attempting to clean it, but it would appear that my mere presence was too much for it."

"That was two hundred years old!"

Sesshoumaru snorted, unimpressed. "There were several seals that caught fire earlier as well. I stamped them out."

"Where?"

"In the storage shed where I discovered this broom."

Grandpa dropped his broom to cradle his forehead in his hands. "My heirlooms."

He shrugged and continued to sweep.

"That's it!" he exclaimed, "I have an idea! Have you ever heard of Miyamoto Musashi?"

"No."

"I suppose you wouldn't have since he was a little bit ahead of your time."

"Who was he?"

"A great human warrior."

"Human?"

"Yes. He never lost a match and is considered one of the best swordsmen in history."

Intrigued, Sesshoumaru let his broom stop.

"Come on," Grandpa waved to him, "and leave that broom there. I've got something to show you."

Setting his broom against the trunk of a tree, he joined him, and together they headed across the grounds.

"Aside from being a fine swordsman, Musashi was a reasonably educated man,” Grandpa explained. “His success inspired him to write about his way of the sword so that others would understand what it meant to be a true warrior."

Hidden away in a far corner of the shrine, they approached a small shed hidden under the branches of an overgrown tree.

"Perhaps one of his most memorable analogies was his comparison between a warrior and a carpenter,” he continued. “You see, in order to build a house, a carpenter must be meticulous and capable of putting together a master plan without any errors.

"A carpenter must understand the nature of the wood and its best uses. He must deduce what every piece's purpose is and how to work it, mold it, and sand it. From that, he then must know how to construct the frame, floor, doors, and walls of his house. He must know in what order to place them and how to tease out the best features from even flawed materials.

"A warrior must do the same. He must understand the nature of his opponent and how he can be defeated. He must deduce what his opponent's strengths and weaknesses are and how to manipulate them. From that, he then must know how to create a defense and an attack. He must know in what order to feint and to stab. And how to tease out the best route to victory when facing even the strongest rivals."

Sesshoumaru nodded.

"There is more than just the ability to plan. A carpenter must be skilled in a variety of tools in order to succeed. No tool is insignificant because everything has a use. As a warrior, you must have realized long ago that every weapon has its place. That you should know how they're meant to be handled because you never know when you may have to rely on them."

An old-fashioned lock, a board hung across the shed's doors, keeping it shut. Grandpa tried to lift it from its hooks, but it was hopelessly wedged in. After a few more struggling attempts, he looked back at the daiyoukai.

Sesshoumaru stared back at him.

"Could you?"

"Ah," he said, and stepped forward. With ease, he lifted the board out of place with one hand and set it down against the shed.

"Thank you," Grandpa replied. He reached for the handles, and the hinges whined as he opened the doors.

Swirling in the sunlight, dust motes glittered in the small workshop. Tables lined the room, each covered with a tarp. Grandpa walked over to one, and pulled back the tarp, sending up new clouds of dust. Set in rows, a myriad of carpentry tools was laid out. Chisels, saws, hammers, and levels. Each one was immaculate and in its proper place.

"It's an old hobby from my youth," Grandpa reminisced, letting his finger longingly trace a few tools. "Nearly every piece of furniture in the house originated here." Then he pulled his finger back. "But when Kagome was born, my daughter needed me, and old hobbies were put to the side. I had hoped that Souta would show an interest, but he didn't."

A long silence passed as each man dwelled on a past that had become just that, the past.

"You're a broken man, Sesshoumaru."

His brow furrowed, the daiyoukai stared at him.

"Only a broken man seeks out his youth, searching for the beginning so that he may build once more. Perhaps you think that if you sweep up enough leaves that you'll find yourself again, but it won't work. You're not who you were then." Grandpa picked up a hammer and gave it to him. 

Sesshoumaru looked at it. The steel alloy felt heavy in his hand. 

"You need to find a new purpose. A new way of the warrior. And the sliding door in the kitchen is warped and doesn't slide like it used to. The stairs creak. And the floor upstairs is awful and needs to be replaced. I know that you're an honorable man, so consider this training your compensation for room and board."

Finished, Grandpa reached up to pat him on the shoulder. Then he walked away, muttering under his breath about his hip and how some tea sounded nice. The leaves could wait a little longer.

Alone, Sesshoumaru set the hammer down and walked over to each table, pulling off their tarps. On top of one of the tables, he noticed a small bookcase lined with yellowing tomes. White creases traced their spines, and he plucked one up.

“Bikini Girl's Basic Guide to Carpentry,” he read aloud. "Strange." He thumbed through the pages, remembering again what it was like to read.

Through the gap on the shelf, he spotted another book. 'Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi.' He took that one too.

OOOOOOOOOO

"I'm home!" Kagome announced with bubbling vibrancy. With two deft shakes, she was shoeless, abandoning them by the door as she crossed the entryway.

"Welcome home," came Souta's tepid reply from the family room.

"School was tough today," she went on, "I think I did pretty good on my math exam even though the teacher went over the material way too fast." She continued to ramble on as she set her backpack down to hang up her school coat in the closet. A long time ago, she realized that she didn't really care if anyone listened. 

She knelt next and unzipped her bag. Inside were several textbooks, and she pulled them out. Cradling them against her chest, she carried them with her as she headed towards the family room. "I went to the library too and found some good history books for Sesshoumaru so he can catch up with the world.

She stepped into the family room.

"Do you know where he…" she began.

Feeling a pillow of sawdust under her foot, her question dried up, and then her mouth dropped open. 

From wall to wall, the room was a disaster. Long dowels and massive sheets of torn rice-paper were strewn about the floor and over the furniture. And at the center, the table was overwhelmed with a variety of tools and one sticky bottle of glue.

"What the hell happened here?" she blurted out.

Hidden somewhere amid the chaos, an indifferent Souta replied as he channel-surfed on a barely visible television. "Sesshoumaru's fixing the screen door."

"He's what?"

He sighed. "Grandpa showed him the tool shed, and now he's fixing the door."

"Is he?" She looked at the disarray, mystified.

A pile of rice-paper shrugged. "He's determined."

His clothes and skin stained with paint and wood glue, Sesshoumaru entered the room, carrying the skeletal frame of a new door.

"Is the frame dry?" Souta asked, leaving her wondering how he even knew he was there.

"The clamps were left on the joints for four hours as Bikini Girl instructed, and as I have learned, her instructions are not to be trifled with. I will slide it down the track to make sure it fits. Would you take the roll of rice-paper out to the shed? I will be applying it out there once I am finished."

"Sure!" Souta agreed, clambering out of the mess that enshrouded him. He walked over to the big roll set beside the wall. And with a grunt, he hefted it up, teetering a bit as he took his first step.

"Isn't that too heavy?" she asked.

"Nope!" he replied as he headed down the hallway and out the door.

She shook her head. He won't put away the dishes, but he'll carry something that's as big as he is out to the shed for Sesshoumaru.

Weaving her way through the debris, she headed for the kitchen. 

At the entrance, she found Sesshoumaru kneeling as he aligned the frame with the track. On the other side, she spotted Mama and Grandpa leaning against the counter with two cups of tea between them. Taking the greatest care, she gingerly sidled around him and joined them.

"Good afternoon, Kagome," they welcomed her.

"Good afternoon," she repeated back.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Mama offered. "There's still plenty in the pot."

"Maybe a little later. What's going on?"

"He's fixing the door."

"Why?"

"You're a woman," Grandpa said dryly. "You wouldn't understand the soul of a man."

"Whatever," she scoffed.

Mama smiled. "I've been meaning to ask, but exactly how much will this soul of a man cost? The labor may be free, but the materials definitely aren't."

"Don't worry about it," he replied. "The shrine's going to be short a few heirlooms in the future, but not any anyone would miss. Besides, I think we'd be lose a lot more if I didn't find something for our houseguest to do."


	7. The Wayward Receipt

Chapter Seven: The Wayward Receipt

Clacking smoothly beneath his feet, Sesshoumaru could feel the steel centipede race along its fixed track. Trapped in the husk of its segmented body, he held onto the bar overhead with one hand, letting the beast take him where it pleased and hoping that they somehow agreed. Souta had called it an elevated train. He looked down at the boy sitting in the plastic seat beside him. A locomotion of man.

It reeked of them at the very least. Sweat mostly, but there were other odors as well and none of them were flattering. Still, it was the nature of the summer, even when they hovered upon the cusp of fall.

"Isn't that heavy?" a young woman asked from the seat across from them. She gestured to the sawed-up stack of lumber he held on his shoulder. Pungent as she spoke, he could smell her sickly-sweet breath. It reminded him of mint.

"He's fine," Souta snapped.

Taken aback by the sharpness of his reply, she glanced nervously between them. 

They both stared at her in silence.

"Oh." Confused and unexpectedly embarrassed, she pulled out her smartphone from her purse and turned away.

Looking around the train car, Souta caught several surreptitious glances their way. A few passengers whispered, and he growled when one pointed a finger.

Crossing his arms against his chest, he leaned back and sighed. "People are stupid. Don't they realize that they're staring at us and how rude that is? It's so annoying."

"It has always been this way," Sesshoumaru replied. "In five hundred years, nothing has changed."  
He nodded.

"The only improvement is that they don’t do anything that requires me to kill them now. I cannot melt them with acid, but I can toss them off the centipede if necessary."

In shock, Souta looked up at him.

He looked back, his expression was both blank and honest.

"You can't kill anyone."

"Why?"

"You just can't. It's wrong."

Sesshoumaru shrugged. "I find that to be a remarkably insufficient reason. Humans are more prevalent now than ever. A little population control might be a benefit."

Souta’s mouth dropped open. "You can't. It's wrong. Taking a life is wrong."

"Why?"

He sputtered.

Sesshoumaru waited.

Then he smiled, his fist striking his palm. "Because it's against the law."

"Law?"

"The government made it against the law."

He nodded. "The government. That was mentioned in those books that Kagome retrieved for me. Instead of lands divided by feudal lords, the islands of Japan are united under one government. They were ruled under an emperor at one point, but now a group of men are elected—"

“And women,” Souta interrupted.

“A group of men and women,” Sesshoumaru corrected, “Are elected into office by the common people, though I find it odd that they would permit the peasants to decide over such important affairs. Human are such unfathomable creatures."

"Anyhow," he went on, "In order for our government to protect its people, it enforces laws. One of them makes murder illegal."

He hummed.

"If anyone violates the law, they get arrested by the police. Eventually, they get tried in court, and if they're guilty, they get punished."

"Are they then killed?"

"Only if they've done something really bad, like murder. Usually they just go to jail for a very long time."

"That seems to be a considerable amount of effort. Why not stab them and be done with it?"

"What if they aren't guilty? What if the wrong person was caught?"

"An unlikely occurrence."

"It's happened before."

"The accidental death of one human is hardly a tragedy. Many innocent ones die from illnesses and injuries every year. They did nothing to deserve it."

"But you can't compare people getting hurt or sick to purposefully killing someone for a crime they didn't commit. People can't help dying from car accidents or heart attacks. It's just bad luck. Besides, the government and the police are supposed to protect the innocent, not make us live in fear. That's what the laws are for. What good is it to have rules, if the people in charge can break them whenever they want?"

A long silence passed as Sesshoumaru mulled over his reasoning.

"Laws, you say?"

Souta nodded.

"Demanding order from this chaotic city, these laws appeal to me."

He sighed in relief.

Letting out a whistling whine, the train began to brake. With a pin-pon, the intercom turned on and a friendly woman announced their arrival at the upcoming station.

"That's our stop," Souta said as he turned around in his seat to look out the oversized window.

"Good," Sesshoumaru replied, and he shrugged to adjust the lumber until it was comfortable.

Built with sterile concrete and trimmed in blue, the station platform appeared as their train glided up beside it. From business suits to school uniforms, a few dozen people stood out on the platform, each waiting behind the red line that ran parallel with the track.

Coming to a smooth stop, the train idled for a moment. Then there was a mechanical hiss, and the doors slid open. Normally impatient, the other passengers hung back, watching the strange man and the boy near the exit. Taking the opportunity, Sesshoumaru and Souta stepped off the train first. 

Making their way across the platform, they wove through the milling crowd waiting to get on. They soon found the exit gate, and they took the flight of stairs down to the sidewalk below. Wedged between a traffic-clogged street and a dizzying array of storefronts, they began the final leg of their journey home.

"What are we building today?" Souta asked, swinging the plump plastic bag he carried.

Sesshoumaru snorted, noting the _we_ he used so loosely.

"The sliding door is new, and the stairs don't creak anymore,” he said, listing their accomplishments. “After ripping it out a while ago, we finished laying the new upstairs floor last week. All the cabinets have new hinges and are repainted. I know that Mama said it would be nice to have a new table in the family room, especially after we spilled glue all over the old one. But maybe we can just sand it and repaint it too." He laughed. "Wouldn't it be funny if she thought it was new?"

"A new table for the family room may be a fine addition at another time."

"Oh," Souta said, puzzled. "Then what's this lumber for? It's a type used in furniture, isn't it? Aren't we making a table?"

"We are crafting a table, but not one for the house."

"I don't get it."

"I am not the sole pupil in this new way of the warrior, so why should I be the only one who has a table on which to work?"

Souta's eyes lit up. "We're making me a worktable?"

He nodded.

"All right!" he half-yelled, unable contain his excitement. "My own workbench!"

Sesshoumaru smirked, amused by his exuberance.

"So, what did we buy exactly?" he said as he opened the plastic bag. His interest, which had been somewhat mild at the hardware store, suddenly erupted. "Let me see if I can figure out what it's gonna look like. This is so awesome!"

The afternoon breeze picked up, and a flimsy slip of paper hardly worth noticing was swept up out of the bag.

"Crap! The receipt!" Souta yelled, watching it as it fluttered and flew out past between two parked cars. "Mama's gonna kill me!" 

Hopelessly distracted, he dove out into the street after the receipt. And as he stumbled out onto the hot asphalt, he looked up, realizing his mistake. The cool shadow of the delivery truck fell upon him. There was no time to brake.

The whine of twisting metal tore the air. The sour stink of coolant sprayed, followed by the heady pungency of gasoline and oil. Some of it splattered on his face, burning.

Though his eyes were pinched shut, Souta felt something strong wrapped around him, protecting him from the chunks of metal and shards of glass that showered from the sky. 

A terrifying eternity passed in that fraction of a second, so when the eerie silence finally came, he could hardly believe it.

Shouts began to pepper the quiet.

His vision blurry at first, he opened his eyes to pieces of truck strewn about the street. Warm and secure against him, he noticed Sesshoumaru with his arms wrapped around him. Cuts swelled along the surface of his skin, blood trickling from them.

"Sesshoumaru! Sesshoumaru!"

"I'm here," he answered softly.

Hearing his deep voice, Souta shook, overwhelmed with hard sobs. "Are-are you… Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

He twisted around and buried his face into his chest as he hugged him tightly. He could feel beneath his torn shirt. His back was sticky with blood. "You're hurt, Sesshoumaru! I'm sorry. I don't know why I did it. I was so stupid. And now you're hurt, and it's all my fault. I'm so sorry."

"Don’t concern yourself. The wounds are shallow and not worth mentioning."

"B-but…"

He pulled Souta back so that he could look him in the eye. "Not worth mentioning. We must go now."

Stifling his sobs, he inhaled deep through his nose and nodded.

"Good." With bits of glass and debris spilling from him, Sesshoumaru stood up. They then took a few steps away and looked back at the youkai-shaped hole in the truck's engine.

On the sidewalk, a crowd of people stared in wordless disbelief. 

Then one began to clap. 

And then another. 

Soon a rush of applause surrounded them, accented with cheers and high-pitched whistles.

"What are they doing?" Sesshoumaru asked.

"You're a hero."

"A hero?"

He nodded. After rubbing his eyes dry with the back of his hand, Souta looked up at him. "You're a hero."

An approaching siren wailed. Trapped behind a wall of stopped motorists, red flashing lights spun. 

Souta tugged on the tail of Sesshoumaru's shirt. "It's the police. We have to go."

"Are they not allies? Enforcers of your laws?"

"Now wouldn't be the best time for an introduction. Not too many people can stop trucks with their bodies, and only get a few scratches. They're gonna ask questions that are probably best left unanswered."

Sesshoumaru nodded. Even as he was confused over the need for secrecy, he accepted that it wasn't his culture. It wasn't wise to debate when he had very limited knowledge on the subject.

Together, they abandoned the lumber, the plastic bag, and the wayward receipt. They slipped through the flocking onlookers until no one recognized them anymore. Soon, Souta was leading them down side streets and alleyways until they spotted the familiar trees that lined the shrine.

Still echoing in his ears as they climbed the steps, Sesshoumaru remembered the crowd's applause and Souta’s praise. _You're a hero._


	8. Rebirth

Chapter Eight: Rebirth

"Earlier today in downtown Tokyo, a potential tragedy has turned into a miraculous feat of heroism," a young reporter announced, her manner polite and professional. "A man saved a boy from a delivery truck by using his body as a human shield. An act that would without a doubt, seriously injure or kill anyone who tried to do it." Taking a step back, she turned to the side and with a wave, she revealed a web of yellow police tape and just beyond it, the crushed front end of a large truck. "But as you can see, there's no body to speak of. Just a few drops of blood, a mangled hunk of metal, and a mystery."

The scene flashed to a thin businessman whose ill-fitting suit made him look bigger than he really was. "I was crossing the crosswalk when I saw the boy just jump out into the road. I thought he was dead for sure. I mean, there was no way the truck could stop in time or even swerve out of the way."

Another flash. Balancing a baby on her hip, a frazzled mother struggled to hold onto her other child who tugged relentlessly on her hand. "There was a silver flash, and the truck crumpled up like it had hit a wall. Some sort of man had grabbed the boy and stopped the truck by just getting in front of it. I've never seen anything like it."

Two high school students giddy with excitement. "It was crazy. The guy just stood up like it was nothing. And this is even crazier." They pulled out their smartphones. "We took a dozen pictures of the guy, and they're all the same." They turned the screens to face the television cameras and held them close. Taken at a distance, the boy was difficult to see from the angle, but the man’s face was completely blurred. "Every single one is like that. It's impossible. It's like he's a demon or something."

Sesshoumaru snorted indignantly. Sitting cross-legged, he regarded the television with mild disgust. "I am not a demon."

Kagome squeezed out some ointment onto her finger from the metal tube in her hand. With a light touch, she dabbed it over one of the deep cuts on his back. "Youkai. Demon. What’s the difference?”

“One is a pejorative term and the other is not.”

She frowned. “Really?”

“I’m not an ogre or some base creature obsessed with vengeance.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Well, if I didn’t know the difference then you can’t expect the public to know any better. Youkai. Demons. You might as well be a ghost."

He snorted again.

She tore open a packet of gauze and laid the bandage over the cut. "And by the way, I didn't realize that I would have to use my priestess skills again so soon."

"Your tending is unnecessary."

She reached for the roll of soft white tape and snipped a piece off with a pair of scissors.

"I will heal on my own."

"If that's the case," she remarked as she adhered the tape to the edge of the gauze, "Then hurry up and heal, so that I don't have to keep tending to you."

Silence.

"That's what I thought," she said with a kind smile as she cut off another piece of tape. “Besides, I’m not sure how you planned to get the pieces of metal embedded in your back out.”

The television flashed back to the reporter. "There is one other unusual development. The driver of the truck is missing. It's believed that he fled the scene right after the accident, and for a good reason. Stolen televisions, smart devices, and other electronic equipment have been discovered in the hold of the truck, and it is believed that he might have been involved with the Kuro-Sakura Gang. As of right now, the police are currently investigating all leads and optimistic that they will catch the perpetrator."

Souta scoffed. Sitting beside them at the living room table, he crossed his arms. "Not likely."

Sesshoumaru looked at him. "Stealing is against the law here, is it not?"

"Yes."

"The police have pledged to uphold the laws. They will catch those responsible. Their sense of duty and honor won’t permit them to do otherwise."

"It's not that simple," Kagome explained. "The police have been trying to squash the Kuro-Sakura Gang for years, but they’re yakuza."

“Yakuza?”

“Organized crime.”

He blinked.

“Like a crime family. Or the bandit gangs from the Sengoku Jidai.”

“Ah.”

"Well, they think they're samurai,” Souta muttered. “Some are even willing to die rather than betray their gang. And if that means getting into a shoot-out, they'll do it." He shook his head. "It's messed up."

"If they believe that they are samurai," Sesshoumaru said, "Then they must have a master. A lord whose orders they’ll follow even to the death."

"They do. Every yakuza gang has a family head. A father. But they’re not easy to reach in the way a lord isn’t easy to reach," Mama said as she walked in, a dish of pickled vegetables in one hand and a tray of sautéed fish in the other. "Souta, can you please fetch some bowls and the rice cooker."

He stood up and left for the kitchen.

"They’re very well protected," she went on. "Even if it means a shorter prison sentence, members who are caught won't betray their father or even their other brothers easily."

"The corrupt cops don't help either," Souta said bitterly as he returned.

"We don't know that," she said, taking the bowls and the rice cooker from him. "You can't make blind assertions about people, Souta."

"Well, if they're not corrupt, then they're cowards." Anger shook him, and he looked at Sesshoumaru. "They're not heroes. Not like you." With his jaw clenched, he left and went to his room, his steps thumping up the stairs.

Mama sighed, and she began to pile rice into the bowls with a spoon-like spatula. "Too much has happened today." She caught the Sesshoumaru's bewildered expression. "I don't know how I ended up with two of them, but he's idealistic just like his sister.”

Kagome looked up quizzically at the reference, her hand sneaking out to grab the first bowl.

"He wants to believe that evil can be vanquished, and he idolizes his sister who was able to do just that."

Sesshoumaru nodded, remembering the battle. His hand felt for the spider-shaped scar on his chest.

"But the world isn't that simple. Good and evil aren't carved in stone but written in sand. And now he's reached the age where he has to face that fact."

"The father of the Kuro-Sakura Gang is lucky though," Kagome said as she picked up some pickled ginger with her chopsticks. "He has his entire family between himself and the police. He can even hide his face. The police can't. If it only meant placing themselves in danger, maybe a few cops put their lives on the line. But the yakuza will go after their friends and family. They’ll stalk them or beat them up. Sometimes they kill them. It’s horrible. The last gang war was really bad. I think that’s why Souta feels the way he does."

Mama picked up the remote. "I think that's enough." She flipped through the stations until she found a silly sitcom. The stiff jokes and canned laughter played in the background as they finished their meal in silence.

OOOOOOOOOO

Sliding the door open, Sesshoumaru stepped out into the shrine's courtyard. He took in the pleasant night air as he rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to rid it of the sour taste. At Higurashi-san’s insistence, he had tried the pickled vegetables. He felt no regret. Every experience is an opportunity to learn something, and he learned that they were revolting. Too often human food presented itself as a chance for him to challenge and strengthen his fortitude. Although, the fish had been satisfying.

His mind steeped in thought, the ground crunched under his sandals as he walked towards the woodworking shed. He entered it and pulled the cord to the lone light bulb hanging inside. Under the incandescent glow, he surveyed the workshop. Clean and polished, his tools hung on their hooks or sat neatly in their drawers. And the floor didn't have one feathery bit of sawdust on it.

At the center of his worktable, a block of wood lay. Cream-colored with a pleasant grain, it was leftover scrap from another project. 

Sesshoumaru stared at it. The future was strange, but the more he learned, the more he understood it. The more he felt it. There were still lords and there were still samurai. There were still families with fathers and brothers. Their names and laws may have changed with the world, but the conflicts never did. 

Sesshoumaru stared at the block of wood. And even without eyes, it stared back. It called to him. He picked up his flat pencil and started to draw.

OOOOOOOOOO

Towering conspicuously over the humans squeezed in around him, Sesshoumaru waited in the crammed elevator. Pressed into the corner, the metal handrail dug into his back and hip. He ignored the discomfort, preferring it over being at the center and completely surrounded by people. Their strong, starchy scents curdled in his nose, the fabricated odors of their industry. It clung to his clothes and skin where they brushed up against him. But the more he endured, the less he noticed as his senses slowly acclimated to them.

The elevator slowed before hiccupping to a stop. With a cheery ding, the doors opened. A few people piled out, and he squeezed through the rest as he escaped from the claustrophobic cube. Next time, he would take the stairs.

As written on the sign hanging from the ceiling, the men's department spanned out around him. On hidden speakers, a benign, classical tune played as he walked down one of the gridded walkways. On either side of him, he passed by closely spaced racks of clothes. And at every corner, blank-faced statues posed, confidently dressed in the clothes featured behind them.

At a loss, he wandered between the racks. Every so often, he glanced up to watch the shoppers around him. While they perused, he tried to deduce what was best to buy. The men were always quick, snatching up what they wanted and promptly paying for it, while the women sauntered between the racks, comparing colors and styles with a critical eye. Neither proved to be much help.

"Can I help you, sir," a bubbly voice asked behind him.

Turning around, Sesshoumaru stared blankly at the smartly dressed man in black slacks and a button-down shirt.

"I'll take that as a yes," the associate said when an answer didn't seem to be forthcoming. "Do you know what size you are?"

Recalling the codes written on the hangers, Sesshoumaru replied, "I don’t know what number or letter I am. I’ve not bought clothing before."

"Ah," he said at the revelation, "I must say, it shows. Well, aside from the aimless wandering." He pointed to his pants. "Those awful pants are a huge clue. They're all baggy in the butt and they barely reach your ankles. I mean, the whole look screams old, stuffy schoolteacher from the nineties."

Sesshoumaru looked down at his clothes, mystified by his descriptions.

"Who dresses you?" the associate asked.

"A woman?"

He shook his head in disappointment and clucked. "Don't worry. I'm here now and I'll save you from anymore fashion disasters." He reached up and squeezed his shoulder for reassurance. "Oh my, "he gasped. "Do you work out?"

"Work out?"

"Never mind," he said, his hand drifting down to Sesshoumaru's forearm as he gave it a gentle tug. "Let's get you to the dressing room, and I'll take your… measurements."

The associate guided him towards the far wall. Near the back, were a series of fresh racks that were being prepped for display. 

Sesshoumaru stopped abruptly.

"Did something catch your eye, sir," the associate asked in bewilderment.

Spotting a rack of coats still early for the season, Sesshoumaru began to tow him towards it.

"Winter is still a ways off," he insisted. "We need to worry about what you're wearing now."

Ignoring him, he picked out a long coat. Blazingly white under the glow of the fluorescent lights, it was made from a thick, khaki material. A stylized design of red flowers tipped the cuffs and rose up from the hem at the bottom.

"You have flashy tastes," the associate said approvingly. "I like it."

Sesshoumaru nodded and held the coat up.

"Why don't you try it on?"

Sesshoumaru put his arms through sleeves and shrugged it on.

The associate took a few steps back, his finger at his lips as he looked him over. Then he grinned. "It's perfect. As if it was made just for you." He pointed towards one of the pillars. "There's a mirror over there. Go see for yourself."

Sesshoumaru's eyes widened when he found it. In the reflection, he saw a glimpse of the old warrior he used to be. Confidence surged in his chest, emboldening him. He thought about the finished piece of wood back at his workshop. There wasn't any doubt anymore. 

He knew for certain that this is what he wanted.

"What do you have in the way of white pants?" he asked the associate without looking.

The associate thought, then nodded eagerly and sang, "I know just the thing. Come this way!"


	9. A Learning Experience

Chapter Nine: A Learning Experience

It was a warm night in Tokyo’s San’ya District. Sulfur streetlamps burned, casting orange light onto the cars parked below them. Plastic bags and wrappers littered the sidewalk or drowned in the sopping gutter. Sesshoumaru stepped silently around them as he made his way, keeping to the shadows. On his left, he passed countless buildings. Made from brick or concrete, they blended into each other, one after the other. Greasy restaurants. adult stores, and pawn shops. Behind their storefront windows, a latticework of bars stretched and signs hung. _Closed_.

Hearing a rattling jingle approach, he slipped into a narrow alleyway between two buildings. A man pushed a ramen cart past him, panting as he ran. In his blind hustle to get home, he didn't notice the daiyoukai in the shadows, an arm’s length away. After all, night was settling in. And those who weren't meant to be in it were best tucked away behind a deadbolt or two.

The sound of the cart fading into the distance, Sesshoumaru stepped back out onto the sidewalk. Taking a deep breath, he absorbed the smells of the city. The earthiness of the concrete and the sourness of the sewer, they permeated the smoggy air. He let out his breath. This place, he realized, had something he hadn't quite expected. A pulse and it flowed through it like the trains over their tracks.

A brick wall turned into a chain-link fence, and his attention snapped back to his surroundings. At three times his height, the fence towered over him with coils of razor-wire looping over the top. Bolted to it, he found a battered sign. It read _Police Impound Lot_.

He looked through the fence. Rows of cars were parked in orderly spaces. Most of them were simply dusty, waiting for their owners to pay their past-due tickets. Further back were the mangled messes, ones that had been involved in serious accidents that still warranted investigation.

He smirked. 

Its cargo hold rising higher than the cars around it, he spotted the delivery truck. He took a few steps back and leapt up. Not the acrobat he once was, he didn't clear the top, but grabbed on just beneath the razor-wire. He reached up for the wire and felt a biting sting. Surprised by it, he let go and dropped back down to the ground.

Putting his finger in his mouth, Sesshoumaru sucked on it until the cut sealed, his youki tickling his tongue. He felt a measure of gratitude for his youkai toughness as he imagined that more learning experiences were no doubt on their way.

His eyes followed the razor-wire. It curled at the top of every stretch of fencing, thwarting any further attempts. To leap over it, he needed to get higher. His gaze gravitated towards a building that neighbored the lot. 

He walked over to it. There was a narrow alleyway that ran between them. He checked the distance. It was about three paces wide. It was easily enough.

With his back against the building, he faced the fence. Gathering his strength, he jumped up, but instead of grabbing the fence when he landed against it, he pivoted away to make another leap. The chain links rattled as he pushed off and landed against the building's wall. Now at twice the height, he instantly twisted back towards the lot and made his final leap. Sailing over the razor-wire, he landed on the pavement inside with a loud thud.

He rose up, his ears sharp as he listened for any security. But all he heard were air conditioning units humming in the distance. No one came.

He headed over to the truck. It still stunk of fuel and radiator fluid. Going around the cab, he found the driver's side door and lifted the handle. It was unlocked, and with a soft whine, it opened. Most of the interior had been stripped out and everything else was coated in a thin residue of fingerprint powder. The police had taken most of the evidence but not everything.

He sniffed the air. A multitude of scents filled his nostrils, muddling together. As he recalled, the television had stated that the truck was stolen, so he disregarded any stale scents. But relying on the fresher scents proved to be confusing. The police had been in and out of the vehicle for days, leaving behind their scents as they conducted their investigation.

As he tested the air, one scent stood out from the rest. Thick and salty, it clung to the seat. It was sweat. The police wouldn't have sweated in the truck. This scent could be the one he was looking for. The one that belonged to his prey.

He inhaled again, exploring the other scents that mixed with it. He was able to single out dirt, detergents, cigarettes, noodle broth, and automobile grease. Together, they melded together to create a distinctive scent profile of the man, and one that he could track.

Finished, he shut the door. Stealthily, he made his way back to the fence. And with a running jump, he leapt on top of a car and bounded over it.

Staying hidden like before, he walked down the sidewalk. The man's profile cycled through his mind as he teased each element apart. The dust from his clothes had notes of a unique soot and fuel. Since he started living in the city, he hadn't smelled it too often except when he and Souta made their occasional visits to the lumberyard.

He turned down a new street and headed towards the harbor and the industrial side of the city. 

After a few shortcuts through alleyways and across empty lots, he found the familiar frontage road near the lumberyard. Running parallel beside it were the iron rails of a railroad track.

He sniffed the air and picked up the faint trace of diesel ash. He nodded. The earth smelled right.

He followed the road away from the harbor. There wasn't any sea salt in the man's scent. On his right, were a series of rundown buildings. Mostly they were hardware stores, restaurants, and repair shops made distinctive by squiggles of graffiti. 

One place stood out. It had square-shaped cuts of cloth hanging from its eave. With one character written on each piece, the sign spelled out Noodle Shop.

He noticed a savory mix of aromas lingering in the air, still strong even though the restaurant had closed a few hours ago. There was miso and pork broth along with a blend of other seasonings. The proportions were uncannily like that which was in the truck. 

He walked up to the dark storefront and sniffed again. The scents of dozens of humans overwhelmed him as he searched for the specific profile of the man.

Then his eyes widened. 

He found the man he was looking for, but by the scent he had forgotten. The one scent that left him without any doubt. The man still carried the faint odor of the truck.

Stepping away from the restaurant, he followed the scent. Only a couple hours old, it was fresh. The man must have eaten there for dinner. He tracked it down the sidewalk until it pooled around a concrete building with steel, roll-up doors. An auto repair garage, it was protected by a chain link fence. 

Considerably less intimidating than the one at the impound lot, he leapt over it easily.

There was a rustle followed by the pattering of racing paws. With burly shoulders and bared teeth, a dog charged around the corner. When it spotted him, it growled viciously, the fur along its spine standing up like ridge on its back.

Sesshoumaru’s eyes narrowed and he returned its growl with one of his own. Whining under its ferocity, the dog bent its head and lay down.

He snorted, satisfied that at least his rank among dogs hadn't changed over the years. He walked past it and towards the rear of the building. The thick smell of cigarettes inundated the air. Then his pace slowed when he heard men chuckling.

Peeking around the corner, he found them. The orange ember of a cigarette at their lips, they stood atop a short flight of steps, their bodies leaning against the railing. Backlit by cool fluorescent light, they smoked in front of a door propped open by a cinder block.

He watched them for some time, formulating his plan, when one of them ground his cigarette nub into the railing and tossed it into rusted can. With a casual wave to his friend, he walked back into the building.

Alone now, the other man took out his cigarette carton and shook it lightly until another cigarette fell out onto his palm. He put it to his lips as he shoved the carton back into his pocket and fumbled around for his lighter, oblivious to the danger that closed in from the darkness. 

Flipping the cap up on his lighter, he went to light his cigarette when a shadow fell over him.

"Sousuke, you back already?" he asked, but his smile vanished when he noticed that the shadow had two points on top of its head. He turned around and his cigarette dropped. "What the hell?"

A sound hit to his stomach put an end to his questions. And as he crumpled, a hand flew over his mouth to smother his groan. He writhed weakly as Sesshoumaru dragged him down the steps until they were hidden in the darkness. Then he hoisted the man up and dropped him onto the pavement, knocking him out for the rest of the evening.

Sesshoumaru slipped back towards the garage and sniffed the air. There were four active scents, one belonging to the unconscious man. That left him with three more enemies. Quietly, he headed up the stairs and with sharp ears, he entered the doorway.

Inside, he discovered a short hallway that opened up into a large garage. Ahead, he could see a car raised up on a floor jack. A pair of black-smeared pant legs stuck out from beneath it. A hand reached out from underneath the car, tossing out a part. It slid across the floor until it landed with the others in a pile at the man's feet.

Reaching the end of the hallway, Sesshoumaru looked around the corner. There was another car beside the first. Not much more than a skeletal frame, a man wearing a metal hood walked around it carrying a blowtorch. As he set to butchering it, pale blue light flickered off the walls of the garage in rhythm with the popping sizzle of the flame.

Beneath the crackling, Sesshoumaru could hear the drumming of his own heartbeat. It surprised him to hear it. Fear and excitement swelled in him and he couldn't be more pleased.

Cutting away a new piece, the man with the torch turned away and Sesshoumaru stepped out. He walked over to the first man and grabbed his leg. Lying on a mechanic's creeper, the man rolled out with an easy tug.

"Hey!" he yelled until he looked up to see who had gotten him. The strike was fast as Sesshoumaru planted his fist in his face.

Hearing the yell over his cutting, the other man turned around. 

Spotting Sesshoumaru, he turned up his torch and came after him. 

Sesshoumaru scanned the area and spied a crowbar leaning against a crate. He picked it up. 

The man lunged, and he twisted to the side, narrowly avoiding the scorching flame. He swung the crowbar up, hooking the man under the jaw. And then he yanked it back, slamming him down onto the ground. Groaning in pain, the man writhed on the floor, and Sesshoumaru whacked him in the gut to silence him.

Hearing the squeaking of scrambling boots over the polished floor, Sesshoumaru looked up. 

Another man bolted towards the hallway and the exit beyond. 

Without thinking, Sesshoumaru dropped his crowbar and reached for the butchered car. Lighter than expected, he picked it up and with a grunt, he threw it. The car flew past the man's head and collided with the hallway with a loud, crumpling bang.

Whimpering, the man fell back onto the floor.

Sesshoumaru stooped over and picked up the crowbar. Flipping it casually in his hand, he approached the man.

"What…" the man stuttered as he slid away until his back hit the wall, "What are you?"

"Those who are about to die needn't know what I am," he replied.

"Die? Wait! Wait! I'll do whatever you want! Give you whatever you want! Just don't kill me!"

"I’m still adjusting to this time, and this idea of not killing criminals is a difficult concept to grasp."

The man whimpered.

He struck him with the crowbar.

OOOOOOOOOO

The night faded as the gray dawn streaked the morning sky.

His head throbbing and his face sticky, a man slowly woke up. His eyelids cracked, exposing him to a blurry world. He tried to rub his eyes, but his sore arms were dead weights twisted behind his back. So instead, he blinked until everything came into focus.

In a daze, he stared at the side of a wrecked car in front of him and then turned his head to see the long row of them to his right.

His stupor lifted. Again, he tried to move his arms, and when he did, he heard the rattle of a chain. Looking around as well as he could, he realized that he was sitting against the rim of a truck wheel and the chain he heard was binding his arms around it.

A white figure stepped out from around the truck.

The man stifled a scream. 

Unfazed, he walked over and knelt in front of him.

"Be thankful, human, for I have decided to grant you an opportunity," he said.

The man stared into the mask and the burning gold eyes behind it.

"You and your brothers must confess to the police. You must tell them of all your illegal activities, including those involving this vehicle."

"What happens to us if we refuse to?"

"I will return." He punched the truck's cargo hold, denting it deep. "Understand, human?"

The man nodded fervently.

Muffled by the thick steel, the men inside the cargo hold shouted.

"Your allies are inside. The police will apprehend you shortly. Remember that this is an opportunity."

Then with a sweep of his trench coat, the figure left, a crowbar in his hand.


	10. The Alleyway

Chapter Ten: The Alleyway

Crouching in the shadows at the edge of a rooftop, Sesshoumaru waited. 

Below him, cloudy fluorescent lights flickered along an alleyway, illuminating the scattered trash and graffiti. The alleyway fed into an old delivery dock of a vacant warehouse, but now it had a new purpose. It was the meeting place for a den of thieves.

Beginning with the filth at the garage, he’d managed to systematically hunt down their members and move his way up their hierarchy. After weeks of violence and interrogations, he was here. Shortly, their leaders would convene in this hidden place, and he would put an end to their crimes.

The sound of a motorcycle hummed in his ear. He looked back, and at the mouth of the alleyway, he spotted it. Bright red in color, it waited there, its jittery motor growling. Then with a whine, it whizzed away into the night.

Before he could consider it, half a dozen shuffling steps pulled his attention back to the dock. 

With their hands shoved into the pockets of their thick coats, men convened from different directions, sauntering as if on an evening stroll. As they met, they gave quick bows and lit cigarettes. They spoke jovially to each other, but he could hear the fear underpinning their conversations, and it wasn't long before they started talking about the rash of attacks.

"There aren't many of us left, are there?" one said, pulling his coat collar closer.

"It grabbed Hiro last night," another replied somberly, "The bastard would have got me too."

"And why didn't it?" a third accused, "I heard you were a coward, Hachirou. That you hid when it came around. That you pissed yourself and let it take him"

"You weren't there, Isamu! You don't know what it was like!"

"He was your brother! Like we’re your brothers."

"Don't you think I know that? I wanted to save him, but…" he trailed off.

"That thing isn't human," the first one finished for him.

Isamu scoffed. "What do you mean it isn't human? What else could it be, Rokurou?"

"It's a demon. An evil spirit exacting revenge."

The others murmured in agreement.

"What are you guys?" he said, astonished by what he was hearing. "Am I surrounded by a bunch of old, superstitious hags?"

"You haven't seen it, Isamu," Hachirou said, his voice trembling. "Hiro was in the back of the warehouse. It ripped four steel doors off their hinges, deadbolts and all. Hiro managed to get out to the parking lot, but the demon was there waiting for him. He got to his car, but it picked it up with him in it and threw it into the bay. If the cops hadn't shown up when they did who knows if he’d still be alive right now!"

Isamu growled.

"If it is a demon," another man added. With a cigarette hanging from his lip, he walked toward them, the embodiment of cool collectedness. "Then we're doomed."

"Kenta-san," Hachirou said, and the group bowed deeply.

"But if it bleeds." He pulled his hand out of his pocket just far enough for them to see the glint of gunmetal. "We'll make sure it becomes an evil spirit. They want this taken care of."

In the presence of their confident leader, their okashira, the men breathed easier and chuckled with relief.

A bottle clattered down the alleyway.

"What was that?" Hachirou whispered.

Kenta held up his hand, silencing him, and retrieved the revolver from his pocket, thumbing back the hammer.

Despite the freezing midnight temperatures, the air suddenly felt heavy, stifling.

At the opposite end of the dock, there was the clang of spilled trash cans.

Sweat chilled the backs of their necks. Dread pounded in their chests.

Overhead, they heard the scratching ring of metal being dragged over concrete.

"It's here," Hachirou muttered, gulping down on the lump in his throat. 

They glanced at him, their expressions rife with pity and contempt. 

He whimpered. None of them had ever seen it, but he had, and when he spotted the glowing gold eyes high on the roof above them, his terror was realized. He bolted for the nearest alleyway.

"Hachirou!" Isamu shouted, seething with anger. Pulling out his switchblade, he planned to take care of this coward now. But when he started after his fleeing silhouette, another shadow dropped down, enveloping it. There was a heavy thump and Hachirou let out a wet groan. 

Then he was gone.

Gripping his knife until his knuckles turned white, Isamu scanned the alley. Under the scant lamplight, strewn pieces of newspaper rustled. 

Something wet dripped onto his forehead. 

He reached up and touched it with his fingers. It was dark, and he smeared it around before putting it up to his nose. It had a metallic scent, one that he knew well. Blood. He swallowed and looked up. Golden eyes met him, and a hand reached out of the shadows, grabbed his face, and yanked him into the darkness.

Isamu struggled, but then there was a sickening thump. His knife clattered onto the ground, and silence followed. 

The rest of the men formed a ring, putting their backs to each other. Each drew a knife, holding it close to their bodies to keep their hands from trembling.

"What do you want?" Kenta shouted at the rooftops.

Silence.

"Answer me, demon!"

A white apparition leapt down from the sky, landing at the center of the ring.

"Demon? Close, but not quite," Sesshoumaru whispered. He grabbed Kenta by his coat and flung him across the dock and into the side of a building. With an arcing swing he swept the crowbar around, striking each man across the back. They stumbled forward, gasping with the wind knocked from them. Using the hook to snatch one by the neck, Sesshoumaru yanked him back and punched him soundly in the side. The man sputtered and collapsed, lost to the dizzying pain.

Sesshoumaru swung the crowbar again, hitting the next one in the gut, and he finished the third one by cracking him across the face with his fist. But as he raised his hand to finish off the last man, there was a loud pop.

Following its origin, he looked back at their okashira. 

Crumpled against the base of the wall, Kenta panted, blood seeping out of the corner of his mouth. In his weaving hand, there was an odd object. 

Sesshoumaru stared at it, mystified. It was like nothing he had ever seen.

There was another pop.

He felt strange. His body suddenly heavy, he collapsed onto his knees. Something wasn't right, and when he looked down at his chest, he spotted the cause. Rounder than what an arrow made, there was a hole piercing through him. He growled. He wanted to move. He needed to move. Mustering his strength, he climbed back to his feet.

Another pop.

He felt it strike his gut, and he fell back down onto his stomach, his mind a murky haze of pain.

"Okashira!" Rokurou called out. He was the only one left and he limped over to his injured leader.

"Is it dead?" Kenta asked, wincing as he was pulled up onto his feet.

"I don't know. Let's just go."

"No," he replied coldly. Using Rokurou as support, Kenta nodded towards the fallen demon. "We're ending this. No one screws with the Kuro-Sakura Gang."

Together, they hobbled over. Through his coat, Kenta could see him breathing and he smirked. "So, you are alive." He cocked the gun again and took aim at his head. "But not for long."

A loud, revving whir sped down the alleyway, and the dock filled with the blinding flash of a headlight. The red motorcycle buzzed around the corner, barreling for the two men. 

They stumbled back as the bike spun between them and the demon. 

Pushing the kickstand down with his boot, the rider stood up. Dressed in a red and black leather suit, he wore a black helmet with a tinted visor, and at its crest were the bristles of a red mohawk. He pulled a baton off its clasp on his bike, and with a twist, it extended into a full-length staff.

"So, you want to get in on this too, boy?" Kenta growled, and he pointed the gun at the rider.

The swing came fast, and before he could pull the trigger, the revolver flew out of his hand and across the ground. The next blow struck his chest, and with a stabbing hit, he hit Rokurou hard in the stomach. They both fell, the last thread binding them to consciousness snapped.

With another twist, the staff collapsed back down. The rider turned back and walked over to the demon. He knelt beside him and shook his head at the severe wounds. "I'm sorry, man."

A hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist.

"Take me home." Sesshoumaru rasped as he struggled get up onto his hands and knees.

"#%$@ me!" the rider half-yelled and tried to pull away.

Somewhere close, sirens started to wail.

"Take me home."

"Look, man, you need to go to a hospital. The cops'll take care of you, so, uh, don't bleed out until then, all right?"

"I need to go home."

The rider looked down at him, conflicted. Then he sighed, "#%$@ me." He reached under his arm. "Can you stand up?"

With the help of the rider, Sesshoumaru summoned what strength he had left and pulled himself up.

"You're a heavy bastard, aren't you?" the rider grunted as he guided him over to the bike. "Here, lift your leg over the seat, and don't move unless I tell you or else you're gonna make me drop my bike. Home won't matter if your brains are splattered all over the street, got it?"

He snorted.

"Yeah, this is a great idea," he muttered and got onto the bike. Glancing over his shoulder, he looked back at the daiyoukai as he drifted forward to lean against him. He sighed again. "I hope you live, because this isn't worth it otherwise."

And with a highly tuned whine, they took off down the alleyway.


	11. Family

Chapter Eleven: Family

Hand propping up her heavy cheek, Kagome stared absently at the haze of words on her tablet screen. In her other hand, she held a pencil loosely, but the only writing it had done in the last hour were accidental scrawls when the tip touched the paper. After a long while, she lifted her eyes to her bedroom window and out to the lamplit courtyard of the family shrine below. Her attention hovered there as she waited for her vision to adjust. Her desk lamp was dimmed all the way down, but it still took some time. But soon, she could make out the familiar contours of every shadow. As she scanned the area, she realized that she wasn't really looking at the courtyard, but for a sign of change. For a shape that wasn't there the last time she looked. But everything looked the same.

With a sigh, she leaned back in her chair and her tired eyes fell on the cool cup of green tea next to her notebook. What had become her nightly routine, a few hours ago she had trekked down to the kitchen to heat up a kettle of water to brew a cup of tea. It was an excuse really, one that turned into a habit. With Sesshoumaru disappearing every evening, it was her way of checking to see if he had returned home. She thought it pretty clever at first, but in a family this tight knit, there was no such thing as a subtle ruse. Mama's teasing had been the most merciless.

But they should be worried too, shouldn't they?

Her lips pursed into a frown. It was well after midnight, and the house was pitch black except for her desk lamp. Their summertime adventure seemed like it was just yesterday, but in that time the daiyoukai had become almost family. There was something old-fashioned about him that made Grandpa feel young. The way he looked after Souta gave the boy the big brother he hadn't realized he needed. Even Mama seemed happier, nearly indomitable as she tried to pry the types of food he enjoyed out of him.

She sighed. For her, it was having a link. Something to reassure her that the world on the other side of the Bone-Eater Well had been real.

Her thoughts lingered on the Sengoku Jidai. Was this what it had been like for them every time she disappeared down the well? For days and sometimes weeks at a time? She hadn't really thought about it before, but they must have worried about her. It wasn't like she was away on a school trip to the hot springs. Her quest for the Shikon-no-Tama had been profoundly dangerous. How many nights had they stayed up wondering if they should have stopped her? Wondering if they were foolish for entrusting her safety to a crude hanyou in firerat fur? Did they sleep this easily tonight because they had already gone through what she was going through now?

She leaned forward again, her eyes settling on the courtyard and the inky shadows. A yawn snuck up on her, and her vision blurred from the tears. Perhaps it was time for her to stop worrying too.

By the steps that rose from the street to the courtyard, a strange shadow grew and shifted.

At first, she thought her exhaustion was getting the better of her. Closing her eyes, she tried to rub the bleariness from them. But when she blinked them open, the lilting shadow remained, creeping towards the front of the house. Her weariness evaporated. It looked like two people. Like a couple of friends, locked shoulder-to-shoulder as they stumbled home from the bar. Something dark smeared the ground behind them, and a tight feeling of dread gripped her chest.

Before she realized it, she was thumping down the stairs as she sprinted for the front door.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Grandpa, move the table and clear the floor!" a voice shouted, so loud that it was scarcely muffled by the walls of Souta's bedroom. "Mama, get the big first aid kit from the cabinet!"

Racing feet padded down the hallway.

Souta sat up in his bed. His mind still foggy from sleep, he looked around at the muted colors of the posters pinned to his gray walls. Reaching out, he fumbled for the cellphone on the nightstand. The screen lit up at his touch, the background showing a candid photo his mother took of him and Sesshoumaru while they were building his workbench a few weeks ago. The time read 1:23am.

"Hey, you! Leather jacket guy!" the voice barked. His mind started to clear. It sounded like it came from the living room. Was it Kagome? "Bring him over here. We'll lay him down slowly on three, okay? One… Two… Three…"

There was the sound of grunting, and he was suddenly reminded of picking up planks of lumber that needed to be carried to the workshop. He had tried to balance them on his shoulder like the daiyoukai he trailed, but they were so heavy. His skin flushed red as he struggled. Ahead, Sesshoumaru looked back at him over his unladen shoulder, his expression inscrutable. He walked back. Embarrassment flared inside Souta and his cheeks turned darker. With one hand, Sesshoumaru took the pieces of wood away. Souta looked down, frustrated but silent. Then he felt the weight of the wood on his shoulder again. Sesshoumaru carefully stacked the planks so that they were balanced. When done, he gave him a nod, and Souta reached up to grasp the wood, surprised by how much easier it was to carry. Sesshoumaru turned away, and Souta watched for a moment. He stared at his broad back and strong arms. His easy and unhurried stride. He was larger than life. His idol.

"God, there's so much blood," Kagome gasped. "Mama, do you have the first aid kit?!"

"Right here," she shouted, her voice coming from down the hallway. The sound of footfalls hurried past his room. "How does it look?"

"Bad," she replied. "We need to cut him out of these clothes so I can get a good look, but I think he's been shot."

Fear seized Souta's chest, and he grasped at the lapels of his pajama shirt. Under his fist, he could feel his pulse racing. Someone had been shot? Before he knew it, he was out of his bed and on his feet. But as quick as he had been to stand, he stayed frozen in place, terrified of what was happening outside his bedroom door. He thought of Kagome and her fearless leaps into the enchanted well and of Sesshoumaru and his strong back that had stopped a truck. It was with that feeling that he found his nerve, and he walked toward his door.

OOOOOOOOOO

His disheveled yukata robe tied around his stout frame, Grandpa, watched Kagome quickly but carefully cut through the bloody coat enshrouding Sesshoumaru. Even as she folded away the layers and began cutting through the shirt underneath, he was still stunned. How had this happened? None of it made sense.

With the last of the clothing covering his upper body cut, Kagome peeled the soaked cloth from Sesshoumaru's skin, revealing a blood-smeared mess.

"All right," she said, her tone analytical, "Looks like there are two bullet wounds, one in his chest and another in his abdomen. Mama, help me turn him onto his side so that we can see if they went through or if they're still lodged in his body."

He felt himself step forward, wanting to help, but both women waved him back. Their briefest of smiles meant to reassure him only served to make him feel useless. That all he could do was watch.

"Hmm, looks like the bullets are still in his body," Mama reported, her brow wrinkled, "That's not necessarily bad, is it?"

"Maybe," Kagome wondered aloud, "He was hit by a truck and came away with only a few deep cuts. It's possible that the wounds look worse than they are."

"He was hit by a truck?" a voice asked incredulously. "Like the truck was moving?"

Grandpa looked up from the grizzly scene on the living room floor to the young man by the entryway. Sporting a black and red jacket blotted with more red than its design intended, the kid looked to be in his mid-20s. While his attire was striking, it was the low-swept fohawk dyed bright red capping his head that grabbed the most attention. Grandpa felt himself bristle with anger.

"Who are you? Some kind of delinquent gang member?" he growled.

"Take it easy, gramps," the young man replied, holding out a gloved hand in a placating gesture. "I didn't do anything. I just found him."

"You expect us to believe that?"

"It's the truth, so yeah. You think I'd bring him here if I shot him? I would have finished him off and left his ass in the alley if I did this."

Grandpa glowered at him, visibly shaking.

"Look, I'm not trying to start anything," he apologized, "I respect this guy. He's out trying to do good, and I should have stepped in sooner. Making a difference isn't something you can do on your own."

"He wasn't on his own," Mama said with a small smile as she handed Kagome the forceps from the first aid kit while taking out a small flashlight for herself, "Thank you for saving him and bringing him home…" She paused, searching her memory for a name that hadn't yet been given.

"Tora," he said.

"Thank you, Tora-san."

His tanned cheeks flushed and he sheepishly ran his hand over his tinted hair.

Grandpa scoffed, hardly satisfied. He said that he found him but also that he should have stepped in sooner? This kid was trouble. He knew it. But before he could make his next accusation, a bubbling cry erupted from the far side of the room. In his rumpled pajamas, Souta stood, his face anguished and tears brimming in his eyes.

He was suddenly in motion, weaving his way around the disarray to hug the boy close. Instinctively, he tried to put his body between him and the impromptu operating scene, but he could feel him pulling away, desperately needing to watch.

Kagome used the forceps to pry open the raw flesh around the chest wound and Mama shined the flashlight inside.

"It's not deep," Kagome sighed, "I think his ribcage stopped it."

Deftly, she angled the forceps downward, and after a tense moment, she pulled out a misshapen lump of metal. She let the slug clatter into a forgotten teacup. Fresh blood spilled from the wound, and she swabbed it with gauze. After a few seconds, the bleeding staunched, and she peered down into the wound again to see if any fragments remained.

"How does it look?" Mama asked, leaning in above her head.

"I don't see any other pieces," she replied, "We're lucky it wasn't a hollow-point or a shotgun shell." Then she smirked and shook her head. "I couldn't feel it before, but it's there now."

"What's there?"

"His youki." She let her hand hover over the injury and the wisps of aura tickled her palm. "It's starting to heal the wound." Then her other hand reached out above the injury in his abdomen. "Youki there, but no youki here. Explains why his cuts from the truck accident were worse when pieces of metal or glass were still stuck in them. Also, might explain why youkai preferred dealing with swords over arrows."

"Then we better get the one out of his stomach and hope it's in one piece."

She nodded, and they both sidled down to his abdomen.

"Is he going to be okay, Grandpa?" a small voice asked, tugging at his attention.

"Of-Of course, he is," Grandpa stuttered, but when he looked into Souta's worried eyes, still puffy from crying, he realized what a poor answer that was. "Come here," he soothed, pulling him close in a tight hug, "He didn't live for all those years as a youkai lord not to mention sealed to a rock just to die from a couple of bullets. I'm sure he's had much worse injuries. Like losing an arm or something. And he still made it out all right." He kissed him on his temple. "He's tough. Just like you. Just like all us Higurashis. You'll see."

OOOOOOOOOO

Mama leaned back, grateful for the support of the cool plaster wall behind her. Her legs folded under her, she was seated on the floor, Souta's head in her lap and his body snug under a fleece blanket. It was everything she could do to get Kagome to finally go to bed, but there had been no persuading her son. Exhaustion pulled at her, and she couldn't stifle the hundredth yawn that had escaped her since she sat down. Across from her and under the soft glow of Souta's old nightlights, lay Sesshoumaru on his futon. He hadn't thought much of mattresses, though since he preferred extra padding under his bedding, she suspected he must have slept on something soft in his past life. Through half-open eyes, she watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, reassured by it. And then entranced by it as its steadiness started rocking her to sleep.

She almost missed his eyes blinking open.

"Higurashi-san," he spoke up, his usually smooth voice carried a slight rasp.

"You're awake," she murmured quietly and let out another yawn. "We were worried."

It was hard to tell in the dim light, but she thought she saw the briefest hint of shame pass over his enigmatic face. She felt a smile on her lips. He would make a fantastic poker player, but maybe not against her.

"It's cold now, but there's a bowl of liver and rice beside you. I would heat it up, but…" She sighed and her eyes cast down to the boy snuggled against her. "It's the hardest thing to move a child once they've fallen asleep on you."

He nodded knowingly, and then with the barest wince, sat up. Tenderly, he slipped his fingers under his thin robe, finding the bandages wrapping his chest and stomach.

"They're healing fast," she said as she watched him gently prod each injury, "But you were in a bad way until we got the bullets out. Especially the one in your abdomen. It had gone pretty deep with no bone to stop it."

He nodded again and withdrew his hand. For a long moment, they sat together in silence. Then he reached for the bowl heaped with meat and a bit of rice. Soon he was gracefully chewing, and she thought she could see what little color he had start to return to his cheeks.

He wasn't looking at anything in particular as he ate, but his gold eyes came into sharp focus when she picked up the mask that had been laying just out of his line of sight. Ignoring him, she regarded the white mask thoughtfully. It was rather beautiful. Carved from a single block of wood, it reminded her of the animal masks popular during festivals. With blockier proportions than a kitsune, it resembled something closer to a dog. On each cheek were two magenta stripes and on the forehead was a navy-blue crescent moon.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing this right," she said, too loud to be talking just to herself, "Being a mother. Even with my father around, it's hard being a single parent. Especially now that he's reached an age where I have to watch over him too. If it were only that, perhaps it would be simpler, but then my daughter fell down a well that transported her back in time."

Sesshoumaru continued to watch her, his expression blank.

"What mother ever expects that her child will turn out to be a reincarnated priestess whose mission is to reclaim a jewel with godlike power in Feudal Japan? To realize that her child's role is so important that if that mother tries to keep her home and safe, she might change history, and so the future, for the worse? I don't know how many nights I stayed up late possessed by dread over my decision to be complicit if not supportive.

"But every few days, sometimes weeks, she would come home safely and remind me that she was still my teenage daughter." She chuckled softly and her eyes sparkled when she looked him in the eyes. "Usually she was upset with your brother over some dumb thing he did."

He snorted.

Her face sobered. "But, today was the first time since their father passed away that someone in our family didn't come home safe and sound." She set the mask down, her eyes never leaving his. "Whether you realize it or not, you are a part of our family. You have someplace you belong. And I can see it in your nature that you have an overwhelming need to protect that place. But remember that you are not alone. We are here for you whatever your new purpose in life becomes."

Their eyes remained transfixed on each other and a long silence followed. Then, something behind his eyes changed, and he gave her a nod.

"Good," she replied back, "Because your clothes are in tatters, and I'm not entirely sure you're handy at sewing. Did aristocratic male youkai youth learn how to sew back then?"

He regarded her coolly as he took another bite of liver.

"I'm pretty sure that if I found a Bikini Girl's Guide to Basic Sewing, you'd probably pick it up."

He didn't dispute her.


	12. Clothes Make the Man

Chapter Twelve: Clothes Make the Man

"How bad is it?", Souta asked, expelling steam as he spoke. The chill bite of the late fall morning had turned the boy's cheeks a bright pink.

"The weather stripping will need replacing," Sesshoumaru replied, tearing off a piece of the crumbling tar paper as if to confirm his deduction. He tossed it aside and began to examine the newly revealed plywood beneath. Discolored by countless rains and snowmelts, the panel stunk of mildew. He prodded the worst of it and felt the spongy rot give way.

Careful steps clattered up the roofing tile. Soon a shadow fell over him, blocking the wan sunlight.

"That's not good," the boy said before crouching down beside him. Together they poked at the rot.

"Has the weather oracle changed their forecast?"

Souta wiped his fingers clean on his pants before pulling out an electronic tablet from his coat pocket. After a swipe and a few taps, he opened the weather app. "Nope. It's still supposed to rain tomorrow and then snow next week."

He hummed, the oracle confirming what his senses already knew. He didn't prefer to be wrong, but in this case, he wouldn't have been opposed to it. With a nod, he stood up, and like the boy, wiped his hands on his pants. "We will do what we can. May I use the tablet?"

Without looking, Souta lifted it up and handed it to him, and then went back to prodding the plywood, testing the feel of it in different places. Soon he was tugging at the tar paper, experimenting with how easy it was to tear. As he ripped off pieces, part of him waited for the daiyoukai object. To tell him to leave it alone and not make it worse, like anyone else would say. But he said nothing.

Sesshoumaru selected an eBook app and pulled up a complete archive of Bikini Girl Basic Guides, a gift from Higurashi-san. She had said that it was in celebration of his recent recovery, but he suspected that she merely had more household tasks in mind for him. He smirked. The woman would be excellent at shogi, but perhaps not against him.

Scrolling down through the list, he found the guide on roofing and began swiping through the pages. It was still strange to read literature on glass instead of paper. But even that which was on paper had a certain sterility to it. A mechanical hand that prints each character with a precision any calligrapher would envy. And yet, it was the writer's flourishes and imperfections that made it an art.

His swiping slowed and he started rereading the chapters on roof construction and temporary fixes. Perhaps they could seal the hole and lay down new weather stripping. Then in the spring, they could plan to reroof the entire house.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sesshoumaru watched Souta destroy the exposed tar paper piece by piece. The boy had scarcely let him out of his sight since the night he was shot. In his indifference, he had even permitted the child to drag a spare futon into his room so that he could sleep there. As a one-time youkai lord, the experience was both novel and strange. In the past, he would have been irritated by such monitoring, but here he only found it perplexing. Had others ever worried about his safety in the same way as this boy did now?

He recalled the small, green youkai who once wielded the Staff of Heads. The memory felt old, like reading parchment bleached by years in the sun. The words were still there, just faded now by time and the elements. Jaken had always been a fretful sort, but he was more concerned about propriety, particularly when aspersions were cast toward his lordship's title. He frowned. Had his retainer truly considered his title so fragile that he worried over its treatment above the safety of his master? Or had he been conditioned to prioritize one over the other by that very master?

A young girl came to mind next. In all her time under his protection, Rin was rarely the type to worry, except in the beginning when it was her kindness that earned her the right to join his company. Perhaps what kept her from being too deeply affected was the fact that violence and loss had always surrounded her. She would follow him, and if he ceased to be, she would move on. He thought of the youkai exterminator boy and knew somehow that she had done just that.

But this wasn't the Sengoku Jidai any longer. Souta had no knowledge of lordships and titles. He did not spend his days playing in old battlefields chasing crows. The boy worried about him. About his safety. And about losing him.

"Sesshoumaru!" a voice called out to him.

He looked away from the tablet. Down below, Kagome waved at him.

"We're ready for you!"

He nodded and handed the tablet back to Souta. Then with grace, he leapt from the roof to land softly beside her. Together they entered the house. The warm air inside thawed the chill from his cheeks, and he pulled off his boots in the entryway.

"Are you excited?" she asked, already in her house slippers.

An onslaught of packages had arrived over the past few days, and the women had been busily completing some project related to him. The most that they let slip was that it was a gift.

He gave her the slightest shrug.

"Well, I'll be excited for you," she replied with a smile. "I'm sure you'll feel different when you see it."

"I believe you overestimate what it takes for me to feel excited."

"No, I think I've got it about right."

His skeptical look only broadened her smile into a grin.

They walked down the hallway and into the living room where Mama and Grandpa waited. Folded neatly on the dining table was an assortment of clothes. A pair of white pants and a white, long-sleeved pullover. A gold and navy sash. And at the center laid out for display, a white, sleeveless, Chinese changshan-style tunic with a mandarin collar. The tunic was split at just below hip height, leaving two long panels, one in front and the other in back. The panels bore the same red floral print as his trench coat, no doubt salvaged from the tattered remains.

"So," Kagome began when his blank expression persisted, "Since we know now that your nightly adventures involve terrorizing criminals and other heroic stuff, we decided to do our part to help out. Especially since your old clothes were pretty much ruined."

Curious, he knelt beside the table and touched the fabric. The match between the floral print material and the tunic was passable. The same for the stitching. He raised an eyebrow at the mandarin collar.

"Exotic styles are popular for hero costumes," she spoke up, "And since you went for the Western trench coat, we figured you'd be okay with something non-traditional."

"At least it's not spandex," Mama added, covering a smile with her hand.

"I still say he could rock spandex. Superheroes wear spandex."

Grandpa shook his head and scowled at the ladies, obviously irritated at an old debate that wouldn't die.

Sesshoumaru picked up the tunic and folded it over one arm before stacking the rest of the items to pick them up.

"Before you go try it on," Mama said, confirming his next task without his consent, "Put this on underneath." Tucked under her arm was a thick, black vest. She held it out to him, and when he took it, it was somewhat heavier than he expected.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Think of it as armor. For bullets at least. It won't stop everything, but it's better than nothing. You're usually supposed to wear it over your clothing, but we figured you might want to preserve an invulnerability effect as part of your reputation."

He nodded and tucked it in with the clothes.

"Well, go put them on. We had to buy some sizes too large on account of your height and the vest. We'll pin it where it's too loose so that you can make the alterations."

He regarded her for a moment. 'Definitely a formidable shogi player', he thought.

Sesshoumaru climbed the stairs to his room and slid the door shut behind him. As he stripped down to his underclothes, he could hear the household's excited whispers outside in the hallway and he sighed. With his hearing, they might as well talk at their usual volume, though he appreciated that they were at least pretending to give him space.

"Don't put on the tunic or sash yet!" Kagome blurted out, "We'll do it after we've pinned your shirt and pants."

So much for pretending.

The vest was first. He pulled it over his head and adjusted the shoulder straps until it was centered over his chest. As he tightened it on the sides, he felt a wash of comfort he hadn't realized he missed. The vest wasn't as heavy as his old armor, but the sensation of feeling secure and protected was there. Like a piece of him had returned. After performing some stretches, he adjusted the tightness until he was satisfied. Next came the pullover shirt and pants. Both were too loose in places, but the shirt fit well across the chest and shoulders and the pants were an acceptable length.

The door slid open, and the women poured in. Slowly, they circled him, like a pair of wolves sizing up their prey. He eyed them as they passed, reasonably certain that he could take them.

"You women have no respect for a man's privacy!" Grandpa scolded from the doorway.

"You were peeking too," Kagome said absently, her finger lightly drumming against her lips as she assessed Sesshoumaru. "Definitely too loose in the torso and the hips."

Mama nodded. "What do you think, Sesshoumaru?"

"I agree," he replied, then added. "The pantleg is wider than my preference. As is the sleeve."

"In that case, we'll pin one leg and sleeve. That way when you rip the stitches out, you can match the pairs and alter them so that they're even."

With pins pressed between their lips, the women descended on him. Carefully, they began to pin the excess fabric. Back and forth, they debated the path of the new seams, applying a mix of their own sense and his guidance until they created the shape that best suited him.

Once satisfied, they stepped back and admired their work. Then they gestured to the tunic. Mild annoyance briefly graced his face, but he did as requested and put the tunic on. The fabric was stiffer than the shirt and pants, but without sleeves, it didn't hamper his movement. The women pinned the torso, but the rest fit well.

"Time for the sash," Kagome said with a nod. "You don't tie it like a normal obi-"

"I know how to tie this style of sash," Sesshoumaru interrupted.

Palms out in deference, she smiled in apology.

Deftly, he wrapped the sash around his waist several times and tied it into place. When he was done, he coolly looked at his audience, feeling that he had adequately proven that he was still capable of dressing himself.

"You need to look in the mirror," Mama said, unable to hide her smirk.

He scowled.

"No, it's good," she amended. "Go look."

Passing other nods of approval, he left his room and headed down the hallway to the bathroom. But when he found the mirror, he was unprepared for what he saw. In it, the past and the present stared back at him through startled gold eyes. His mouth gaped slightly. The old lord was there, in the colors, the sash, and the armor, but the design was something new. Reinvented to fit his new world and purpose. It was both entrancing and disorienting, and he couldn't tear his eyes away.

"See I knew he would like it," Kagome said, grinning as she peeked a look at his reflection.

"I'm just glad that the sleeveless tunic works with the pullover," Mama sighed, edging in on the other side. "I'm still not certain if I like a mandarin collar without sleeves on a man."

"It's not like he doesn't have the arms for it."

"True."

"In any case, he'll need something sleeveless. The summers get too hot here for a man to be running around dressed in long sleeves. Not to mention in white. Imagine all that sweat. Especially under the arms."

"Wait, do dogs sweat?" Mama asked.

"Well, he's a dog youkai. Maybe being a youkai comes before being a dog."

"And youkai sweat?"

"I don't know… Sesshoumaru, are you a youkai or a dog first? And do you sweat?"

"I am more sensitive to temperature now than in the past," he replied, answering neither question.

"He's definitely going to sweat," Kagome concluded. "No sleeves for sure."

"Enough!" Grandpa fumed. "A man's sweat is his pride and proof of his vitality!" He squeezed in past his granddaughter to catch Sesshoumaru's eyes in the mirror. "Do not heed these females, and their… their sexist attitudes. As a man, your sweat is an honor! Never be ashamed of it!"

"Females?!" Kagome blurted out in shock. "Sexist attitudes?!"

"Calm down," Mama soothed as the two started to squabble. "Remember that we have one more gift?"

"Oh, right," Kagome said, the argument swiftly forgotten, "Let me go get it."

A moment later, she returned, and the others stepped back to join her, leaving Sesshoumaru alone with the mirror.

"So, there's one last thing," she said warmly, "A finishing touch."

Pulling himself away from the ghost in his reflection, Sesshoumaru turned to spy over his shoulder at her, and for the second time that day, his mouth gaped. In her hands was his mask, and along its hairline was a cap of long, silver hair whose ends pooled at the floor. It was his hair.

"We know that you're not a lord anymore, and that's why you cut off your hair. But you're still a warrior, right? It seemed like a waste to throw it away, even before all of this."

"And it's removable," Mama added. "In case you don't like it."

Nervously, Kagome held the mask out for him to take, and with a hesitancy that felt so unlike him, he took it. He stared at the face of the mask, again mesmerized by the blend of his past and present. Seeing his old self in the details and the hair, but his new self in the design. Even though he was the one who crafted the mask, the hair transformed it into what it was meant to be.

Flipping the hair forward, he secured the mask over his face and pulled the cap into place. Then he tossed the flow of hair back. It cascaded down his back with a weight that felt familiar and reassuring. He felt whole.

He turned to face the others. "Well?"

Stunned silence answered him, and he enjoyed the peace it brought.

"How much does he look like his old self?" Mama asked, finally managing to string some words together.

Kagome shook her head and laughed under her breath. "If we found a big fluffy boa for him to wear over one shoulder, I think we'd be obligated to call him Sesshoumaru-sama from now on."

He snorted, obviously pleased.

A series of clatters, ringing like shattering glass, erupted from outside. They were soon followed by a volley of thumps.

"What was that?" Mama asked, anxiety in her voice. "Is Souta still on the roof? Did he just fall?"

"He's well," Sesshoumaru said, his head tilted toward the front of the house. "I will see to him." He pulled the mask up and off his face and handed it to her. "Do you have the device I requested?"

She nodded and reached into her jeans pocket, pulling out an inexpensive smartphone. "I setup the app you wanted."

"Thank you." Then he paused. Looking at the three of them, a swell of gratitude tightened in his chest. "For all of this."

'Of course," Grandpa replied with a humph and he crossed his arms. A smile quickly followed. "You're family."

He nodded and headed down the hallway toward the stairs. The sound of thumps and clattering continued when he reached the entryway, and a loud bang followed as he pulled on his boots.

When he stepped out into the chill morning, he discovered a battle zone. Across the ground lay shattered roofing tiles and his carpentry tools. The roll of tar paper he had bought yesterday was in an unfurled heap. Even the ladder had been kicked away from the eave and rested on the ground. The salt of tears punctuated the air, and above him, he heard the upset boy stifling his sobs.

Sesshoumaru sprang up and landed lightly on the roof so as not to break any tiles. Souta sat along the eave, his legs dangling off the edge. He walked towards him, and then took a seat beside him. Together they sat in silence except for Souta's occasional sniffle. Every so often he rubbed his eyes hard with his palms, trying to erase his embarrassment. Not that it mattered. Sesshoumaru already knew he'd been crying.

"You're worried about me?" Sesshoumaru asked in a way that resembled a statement more than a question.

Another silence passed, then Souta nodded.

"I come from a time where violence and death are commonplace. To have someone worry about my safety is a rare experience for me. One I'm not yet accustomed to."

"I don't care," he blurted out, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. "You're here now. Not there. Just stay here and fix the roof and other stuff. I don't want you to be a hero."

"But it was me being a hero that saved your life, remember?"

Souta was quiet.

"I believe there is a path to purpose in protecting this city. In acting heroic."

"Then promise me that you won't get hurt again."

Sesshoumaru sighed. "I cannot."

"That's not good enough."

"I know," he admitted and set his hand on Souta's shoulder. "Take out your tablet."

The boy did as he asked, producing his tablet from his coat pocket. As he did, Sesshoumaru pulled out the smartphone from his pants pocket.

"As the apex predator in times past and present, it's distasteful to be the one who is being tracked," he said, unlocking the device. Then he made a series of taps. "But I will grant you the privilege of stalking me."

A notification message appeared on Souta's tablet. A follow request from Sesshoumaru by his mother's favorite stalker app. If he accepted it, then as long as the daiyoukai carried his phone, he could use the GPS and cell towers to track him whenever he wanted to and vice versa.

"If you are worried, then you can find me no matter where I might be," he assured, "No one else has that permission. And should I be injured and unable to return home, it will be your task to save me." His eyes gripped the boy with unexpected seriousness. "Are you willing to accept this responsibility?"

Silence. Then Souta nodded, his tears drying up. He tapped accept.

"Good."

"Are you angry with me?" he asked sheepishly.

Sesshoumaru looked at the mess strewn about on the ground below. The tiles aside, nothing was broken. And despite that, he knew there were spare tiles stacked in the shed, a fact that he was certain Souta knew as well. Still, even if there weren't, he doubted that he could feel anything like anger towards the boy.

"No."

"Will you help me clean it up?"

"Yes."


	13. Saved for a Night

Chapter Thirteen: Saved for a Night

A black, starless night fell over downtown Tokyo. In a flurry of flapping white, a figure ran and vaulted over its rooftops. Below him, clean swept streets and walkways gave way to blankets of dirty slush, and the pristine LED brilliance that illuminated the city turned into gaudy neon lights and sulfur streetlamps. It was only in the uniformity of the rooftops where both places felt the same. Where he could see that the appearance of power and safety was simply a veneer. A skin that only mattered where it was exposed and not where no one saw it. But he saw it.

And he saw the old wealth from decades past in the neglected parts of the city. In the faded paint and outdated architecture. In the neighborhoods curated by the decay of time. Even though their rises and declines happened far after his sealing, he felt a kinship with these forgotten spaces. A shared experience of being left behind.

Catching a familiar scent, Sesshoumaru stopped nimbly on the cornice of an apartment building. The scent was human male and it mingled with a heady mixture of cheap deodorant, aftershave, and motorcycle oil. He launched off toward the scent, still keeping to the rooftops. As he neared, his pace slowed, and his quiet footfalls turned silent. Soon, he came upon an alley behind a nightclub, and he peered down from above.

A halogen lamp lit the alley in an eerie yellow glow that reflected in the slush and icy puddles. Wrapped in thick jackets, two men stood by a metal door. At first glance, they appeared to be careless about their surroundings, numbed by the cold as they smoked cigarettes and chatted. But their sidelong glances toward the mouth of the alley belied their relaxed demeanor. And when a new shadow ambled into the alley, their conversation stopped.

There was an awkwardness to the young man as he approached, a nervousness poorly concealed by false confidence. Neither of the men were fooled.

"Hey guys," the young man began and held out his fist in greeting.

Both men looked at him coolly, their hands still in their pockets.

"Yeah, I know I owe money, but-," he started weakly, his fragile facade already breaking.

"But, yeah, you do," one of the men interrupted. He took a drag from his cigarette. "You shouldn't gamble, Kisuke. You got no luck. Go steal some shit from your mama and pawn it. Then come see us. We're not going anywhere."

"I can't…"

"Sure you can," the other man assured. "Your mama loves you. She'll forgive you. Just like last time. But you know who she might not forgive?" He nodded toward the man beside him.

Kisuke's eyes widened.

"Yeah, if we don't see what you owe, we might need to make a visit. If you can't fix the problem, we're gonna have to ask her to do it, know what we're saying? But if you get the money and pay up, then there's no problem."

"Just remember there's interest," the first man added. "Compounded daily."

"Getting fancy there."

"I've been reading."

"No," Kisuke said quietly.

"No?"

"No." Kisuke produced a folded knife from his coat pocket and flipped it open.

Both men stumbled back in mock fear before erupting in laughter.

"I'm serious!" Kisuke asserted, punctuating his threat with a wave of the blade. "I'll kill you. Stay away from my mother."

The men looked at each other and sighed, cigarettes dangling from their lips. One reached for a metal baseball bat concealed behind him while the other pulled his own knife from a holster on his belt.

"I think your interest rate just went up, kid" the man with the bat said, and he started to stride towards Kisuke with the other man on his heels.

Then they froze.

Kisuke laughed under his breath, suddenly feeling sure of himself.

"Who're you?"

He sobered. They weren't looking at him, but behind him. Turning to the side, Kisuke looked over his shoulder. At the edge of the lamplight, a man stood. He wore a two-toned, leather jacket and a dark skull cap. Pulled up over the bridge of his nose was a mask with the snarling maw of a tiger stenciled on it in white. The black silhouette of a staff was in his hand, the tip resting on the ground.

Before he could be asked again, the masked man was in motion. He flew past Kisuke. Caught off guard by the charge, the first man came at him with his bat. But the swing was wild and easily dodged. The arc of it pulled him forward, and the masked man brought his staff down hard on his back and then jabbed the end into the softness of his side. The man collapsed, pain twisting his face as he writhed.

The other man lunged for him. The masked man leapt back, avoiding the blade. Then with a quick swat, he struck the man on the hand, knocking the knife away. Next came a hard thrust, and he jabbed him in the stomach before he swept the staff across his jaw, knocking him out.

When the masked man glanced back at Kisuke, he found only an empty alley.

In the darkness beyond the lamplight, a desperate scream erupted. A furious stream of shoes slapping puddles followed and Kisuke sprinted into the light. Terror blanched his skin and steam from his ragged breathing billowed around his mouth.

Materializing out of the shadows, a demon in white appeared.

Blocked in by monsters on both sides of the alley, Kisuke started to whimper, his eyes wild and tears streaming down his face.

"Go home," the masked man ordered.

The young man balked, as though there was a trick to what he said.

"Go home!"

Kisuke bolted past him toward the mouth of the alley and out to the safety of the street beyond the shadows, hoping his feet were fast enough to outrun the devil.

The still conscious man on the ground growled, "You %$#@ing bastard…"

"Eh, go %$#@ yourself," the masked man said to him and kicked him in the jaw, knocking him out. His eyes rose to meet the demon, and their bodies squared off. "Well, look at you." There was a smile in his voice.

Then the masked man approached, a playful hitch in his step as he walked around him. "You look great, man!" he exclaimed. "Look at these clothes! The others were pretty much trashed, but damn, this is an upgrade! Almost worth getting shot twice, am I right?" He laughed. "Well, maybe not. Where did all this hair come from. You look so %$#@ing scary now. I love it!"

Sesshoumaru waited silently, wondering when Tora would breathe again.

"Oh yeah!" he remembered and thumbed towards the mouth of the alley. "I've got something for you. I figured that if you lived, I'd run into you again, so I held onto it. It's on my bike." He collapsed his staff, slipped it into a pouch on his thigh, and started to walk away.

Sesshoumaru eyed the unconscious men on the ground.

"Don't worry about them! Cracked ribs and loose teeth come with the job. Stop being mysterious, or whatever, and come with me." Tora could feel the sigh of resignation even if he couldn't hear it and a grin spread under his mask. The daiyoukai appeared beside him in a flow of white. "Damn, you're so %$#@ing cool. But you gotta be cold. Are you going to get another long coat?"

"It's in shipping," he replied.

"He speaks!" he announced with a laugh to the empty streets. "Well, you don't have to talk if you don't want to. Believe me I can do more than enough for the two of us."

"Why did you protect that man?"

"What?"

"Why did you protect that man?" he repeated. "He was the one at fault."

Tora blinked, trying to process the question. "What do you mean? They were going to hurt him. Probably worse."

"He owed them compensation and he produced a weapon. He should not wield a knife if he's not ready to be cut."

He looked up at him as they walked, considering the shadow of an eye that he could see through the hole in the mask. The slit of its pupil. This person could throw cars at pesky yakuza and withstand the force of a truck crushing down on him. That he could bleed made him real, but how he had recovered from those bullet wounds made him something more than mortal. It would be a mistake to pretend that he was anything human.

"All right, let me ask you this," Tora posed as he gestured at their surroundings, "What do you see around us?"

Sesshoumaru gave him a flat look that he could scarcely miss. "Buildings. Street lanterns. Automobiles. The night…"

"Okay. Okay. I'm sorry. Bad question. Let's think about it more abstractly. What's the condition of everything around us?"

He paused, his free-flowing thoughts from earlier that evening bubbling up. Old buildings scabbed with graffiti. Burnt out street lanterns. Rusted out vehicles with tape and plastic covering their shattered windows. The frustrated arguing of a couple somewhere in the darkness of the night. These were the forgotten spaces left behind.

"Decay," he replied.

Tora nodded. "This is a desperate place. The absence of power and influence is what makes poverty. And that poverty eats hope. Not all of it, but it eats enough of it that the people who live here will do anything to hold onto it. To escape that desperation. And sometimes people choose to escape it by climbing onto the backs of others, pushing them into the mud so that they can get a little more air. So that they can wield a little more power and feel safe."

"You're speaking of those men."

"Yeah. Those men peddle hope. They lend money and run gambling dens. Kisuke got suckered in like so many other dumb kids around here. Hell, it's not only kids. Someone gets sick or they lose their job, and they'll do anything. And these guys are waiting."

"You know him."

"What?"

"The man who pulled the knife."

Tora instinctively reached to stroke the crown of hair buried under his cap and sighed. "He's one of my kids."

Sesshoumaru peered down at him critically.

"No, no, no… Not like that," he stuttered. "My real job is that I'm a social worker. For at-risk teens and young adults. Kisuke is one of my cases. He's a good kid. Just desperate. His mom can't support them anymore, and the idea of winning big and having all your problems solved in a crazy moment of luck was just irresistible for him. Even if he knows deep down that the house always wins."

"Hm."

"Still, it's going be bad for him. I shouldn't have stepped in, but when the one guy pulled the knife, I knew it was going to be more than some bruises and a black eye. He's going to have to disappear for a while."

"Will he escape?"

Tora scoffed. "The odds of that are about the same as his odds of winning in a yakuza gambling den. These neighborhoods are like those fishing traps where the fish can swim in, but they can't figure out how to get back out again. And so, they just sit and wait for the inevitable."

"If it's futile, then why have you chosen to be this social worker? Why were you watching over him this evening?"

He blew out a breath. "Do you only ask hard %$#@ing questions or something?"

Silence.

"Maybe it's because I won that jackpot and got out? Not the easy way though. My mother rode me throughout school. Like hard. And because of that I got into college." He chuckled. "She told me I wouldn't make anything of myself with a humanities degree, but I fooled her."

Sesshoumaru gave him a blank look.

"Let me rephrase. By the grace of my hardass mother, I gained access to opportunities that many like me never had the chance to seize. And I see it as my responsibility to make those opportunities available to others who were like me. To be that support for them. To pay it forward."

"And the mask?"

"Because words and gestures never feel like they're enough for me. Sometimes I just want to do something with my own hands. To save a life even if it's only for a night." He laughed ruefully. "I think when you're born in the mud, you never really escape it. Like it's in your bones."

"Is saving a life if only for one night being a hero?"

Tora blinked. "I don't know. I think it's just easy. It's hope in a gambling den. Real heroism takes more than that. I beat up some thugs, but that doesn't necessarily make anyone's life better in the long run. Maybe they're safer for a day, a week, or a month. But the facts of this place remain the same. You said decay, right? Heroism isn't just smacking down the guys standing on others to escape the mud. It's finding ways to raise people up so that they don't have to wade in it anymore. No matter what I do here tonight, the real difference I make is what I do during the day."

A silence persisted, and then Sesshoumaru nodded. "You have given me much to consider this evening."

"My pleasure," he replied, waving his hand with a flourish. "And we're here."

Tora turned down an alley, and in the shadows on the far side of a dumpster was his cherry red motorcycle. On the bike, secured in place in a pair of clasps, was an old, iron crowbar. He pulled the tool free.

"For you, my friend," he said, holding it out for the daiyoukai to take. "I went back to the spot where you were injured and grabbed it. Figured you might want it back. It's not something you find laying around in an alleyway."

Sesshoumaru took it from him. He regarded it for a moment, and then slipped it into his sash at his back. "Thank you."

"When I rescued you from that alley," Tora began, his voice earnest, "When I got you home, and those ladies pulled the bullets from your body, I believed that I was being heroic. But I hope it's not like what happened tonight with Kisuke. I hope I didn't save your life for a night. Or a week. Or a month." His hand came up to grasp the him by the shoulder. "Be careful. However, you choose to be a hero. And if you need help, let me know. I left my number with Higurashi-san." He laughed. "I can't throw cars at people, but I can help out in other ways."

He looked at him, processing everything said, and then gave him a nod.

"Good. Because I want to be there when you kick a %$#@ing truck into outer space. It's going to be the most badass thing I will ever see."


	14. Tribute

Chapter Fourteen: Tribute

Another wintry evening settled in, blanketing a quiet Tokyo neighborhood in darkness. Nestled between a row of apartments, a street-side ramen stand beckoned, a warm and inviting glow emanating from within it. The air was drunk with the savory aromas of pork and fish. They weighed the atmosphere down on a night when the chill otherwise made it feel thin. Broad squares of cloth hung from the stand's eave, the gaps between them revealing two cooks busily working behind the counter and a few patrons sitting at the bar in front.

A black sedan pulled up to park. Three men emerged, their designer clothes hidden under wool coats meant to ward off the cold. Wearing black, two of them acted as guards, flanking a man in tan who walked a step or two behind them. Together, they approached the ramen stand and dipped their heads under the cloth banners as they entered.

"Welcome! Welcome!" the young cook called out, his hands dancing between bubbling trays of tofu, mushrooms, and eggs as he prepared orders and manned the sizzling grill. "What can we get for you?"

"I'll take your pork cutlet special," the man in the tan coat replied.

"Have a seat then," he said, packing to-go bowls into a paper bag. "It'll just be a few minutes." Looking back over his shoulder, he shouted to the older cook, "Three more orders for eel and a shrimp wonton from the app, pops!"

"And a pork cutlet special."

"Don't worry, sir-," the young cook began, looking up for the first time. His face blanched when he saw the men and the spatula he held clattered onto the floor.

The men smiled.

"We already paid this week."

"You did," the man agreed.

The few customers sitting at the bar disappeared, leaving behind their payment and half-finished meals.

"Then what do you want?"

"A pork cutlet special," he replied menacingly.

A hand clasped the young cook on the shoulder. The older cook stood behind him. "Go make the man his order, Hiroshi."

The young cook looked back at him. "But, pops…"

He shook his head.

Muttering a curse under his breath, he retreated to the back of the stand, his hands clenched into fists.

"Forgive my son, Yoshiro-san," the older cook said with a bow to the man in the tan coat.

"Seems that business is great despite the terrible service," Yoshiro remarked with distaste and gestured for the cook to approach.

Warily, he slipped from behind the counter to join the men on the side of the bar.

Flipping the lid open and closed, Yoshiro toyed with a bottle of hot sauce he had discovered next to one of the abandoned bowls. "The age of the internet, I suppose. All these apps. Delivery services that let even a shitty ramen stand reach more customers than ever before."

The two guards closed in on the cook, each grabbing an arm in a vicelike grip.

"Pops!" the son shouted, a knife in hand.

"Stop, Hiroshi!" his father begged. Peeking out from behind the man's unbuttoned coat was a gun secured in a belt. "It's okay. We'll be okay. Just make his order."

"But…"

"Please."

From over the counter, Yoshiro glared, daring Hiroshi to confront him with the knife. Their eyes locked for a long moment, the sizzling and bubbling food filling the silence. And then something broke inside the son and he turned away. Setting the knife down, he started preparing the ramen bowl, angry tears spilling down his cheeks.

Yoshiro sneered, satisfied. His attention turned back to the father. "You've been lying to us," he accused dispassionately, flipping the bottle open and prying off the plastic cap that controlled the flow of the sauce. "The number of customers that come to your stand hasn't changed, but deliveries have been booming. And we haven't been getting our cut."

"I'm sorry. We'll pay."

"You will," he agreed.

Grabbing him by the hair, Yoshiro violently yanked his head back. When he gasped, he took the opportunity to pour the hot sauce into his mouth. The father choked and gagged as the fluid burned his throat, but the agonized screams didn't start until he poured the rest into his eyes.

"Don't!" Yoshiro ordered, pulling his gun on Hiroshi before he could round the counter.

He stopped, anger and anguish knotting inside him.

Using the gun, he gestured to the his hand.

A knife fell to the floor.

"Go get us our cut. And my pork cutlet special."

Half blind by tears, Hiroshi opened the register. A satchel flew at him from the other side of the counter, and he emptied the till into it.

When he was done, he returned to the back of the stand and finished prepping the noodles for the ramen bowl. He added the broth and the toppings. He listened to his father's sobs as he grilled the cutlets. And he packed it all into a paper bag.

Carrying the satchel and the takeout, he walked around to the bar and offered them to Yoshiro, his head bowed in surrender and shame.

Yoshiro inspected the contents of both. Then nodded, appeased for now.

The two men released the father, and he collapsed onto the ground. Mucous and tears pouring from his face, he started to retch.

"Let's go," Yoshiro said, disgusted. "Before I lose my appetite." He handed one of the men the satchel and takeout, and together, they left.

Once they were gone, Hiroshi rushed back into the stand and grabbed a pitcher of water. When he returned, he fell beside his father.

"Pops," he called out and tried to prop him up. "Pops, you have to look up. I need to flush out your eyes."

"Hiroshi," he murmured.

"Don't—"

Trembling, he reached for his son's face, feeling it slick with tears. "It's okay. Don't worry. We're okay."

Hiroshi pulled him close and began pouring the soothing water into his blinded eyes. "I know, pops. I know."

A gust of wind neither noticed blew through the stand and a bottle of hot sauce disappeared from the bar.

OOOOOOOOOO

The three men strolled back toward their car, straightening their clothes as they went.

"Any of you guys want that?" Yoshiro asked, nodding towards the paper bag. "I don't actually like—"

A hand snaked out and grabbed his shoulder, startling him. It was one of his guards. He stood anchored to the ground; his wide eyes focused up ahead. Lit only by the glow of the ramen stand, a figure in white stood on the roof of their sedan, his arms crossed.

"What the…?" Yoshiro muttered, and then shouted, "Get the hell off my car!"

The figure remained, the icy breeze tugging at the tails of his long coat and tunic.

"Okashira."

"Do you know who I am?!" Yoshiro yelled.

"Okashira!"

The hand on his shoulder shook him. Infuriated, he turned on his guard, "What?!"

"That's the guy that took out Kenta-san and his crew." Spying molten gold glaring through the eye holes of the mask, the man gulped. "It's some kind of demon. A monster."

Yoshiro scoffed. "No, that's just some cosplaying weirdo. A dead one at that." In one motion, he smoothly reached into his coat and retrieved his gun. Raising it up, he took aim, but only found the car waiting for him.

Then his vision filled with white haloed by long silver hair. The masked demon grabbed the gun in one hand and with an open palm, struck him hard in the chest. Yoshiro's breath exploded from him and pain radiated throughout his body. The agony combined with a surreal weightlessness as he flew back. Time slowed. Then the ground met him, and he tumbled.

"Okashira!" the guard shouted at the crumpled man as he bounced over the pavement.

"He's the least of your concern," a voice said ominously.

The guard spun towards the source. Through the snarling mask, the demon watched him. In his hand, he held the gun, ripped from Yoshiro's grasp when he had struck him. A crunch followed as he crushed the weapon to make a fist.

Expletives sputtered from the guard and he turned to flee. But before he could take his first step, the wad of composite plastic and metal flew at his head. It struck with a cruel thump, and he collapsed heavily onto the ground.

A motor roared to life, engine revving. Tires squealed as the black sedan peeled out, the acrid odor of burning rubber flooding the air.

The car raced down the street. Streetlamps strobed by, their flashes revealing the panicked guard inside. His knuckles gripped the steering wheel. His sweat beaded on his skin. And unintelligible prayers and curses bled together from his lips.

Ahead, the street reflected emptiness under the flood of the headlight beams. Then, made brilliant in the light, the demon appeared, waiting.

The sedan skidded, tires screaming.

And as it bore down on him, the demon kicked out. His foot crushed into the front end. With so much momentum, the car's back end rose up, and he leaned back as the mass of whining metal and tinkling glass somersaulted over him. Sparks flew as the car smashed onto its roof, screeching down the asphalt as it slid to a stop.

Inside the wrecked sedan, the guard hung upside-down from his seat, saved by his seatbelt and the deflating airbag. Coughs wracked his body, and he sucked in air stinking of raw metal and coolant.

Then the car lurched. Fresh sparks sprayed outside his shattered window. Another lurch came, smoother this time, and soon it was a steady drag back down the street toward the ramen stand.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Wake up, human."

Yoshiro stirred. Pain tightened in his chest with every breath until a coughing fit overcame him, sending excruciating spasms throughout his body. Writhing weakly, he squinted through the tears. He was on the ground, and as he looked to the side, he discovered his two guards on their backs beside him.

Through the haze of pain and confusion, something primal lurked in his mind. Something that inspired thoughts of the deep forest at twilight. When the shadows deepen. When you can see just far enough to know that you're not alone. The moment when you realize that you're the prey.

Burning gold orbs split by black knives watched him.

Above him, the demon towered, and in his hand, a bottle of hot sauce.

Yoshiro gasped.

OOOOOOOOOO

"I'm going to call the police," Hiroshi said, pulling out his phone. The neighborhood was quiet again. The yakuza fight, or whatever it was, seemed like it was over. Or at the very least, the screaming had stopped.

"Let's wait a little longer," his father said.

Together, they were hunkered down behind the counter, the closest shelter they could find when the shouting started. Expecting a turf skirmish, or gunshots even, the fight had instead been something else. Something protracted in its violence and filled with a supernatural dread.

Hiroshi leaned out, peering around the corner to the street beyond. Under a streetlamp he could make out the wreckage of a black car, but nothing further.

Then a shadow fell over him and a satchel dropped onto the floor.

Cursing, he scrambled back behind the counter.

The shadow disappeared.

"Wait!"

The demon stopped and turned his head to the side, spying back at the nervous young man who now held the satchel in his hand.

"Who are you?"

A long silence passed.

"A youkai," he replied.

Hiroshi blinked. "I don't understand."

"A guardian."

Still uncertain, he squeezed the satchel. "Why… Why did you bring this back?"

"I had intended to force that filth to return their stolen tribute personally, but I'm certain that their cowardice would have resulted in your harm after I departed."

"I don't—"

"It's yours, is it not?" the demon interrupted. "You already pay tribute to a ruler. A government. These bandits sought a tribute that wasn't theirs to claim nor was it freely given by you."

The bag was heavy in his hand. "This is more than what we gave."

"A penalty was exacted."

Hiroshi laughed and rubbed his forehead, trying to make sense of it.

The demon started to walk away.

"Wait!"

He paused again.

"Do you have a few minutes?"

OOOOOOOOOO

Thumping down the steps, Kagome headed downstairs to make her nightly cup of green tea. In the kitchen leaning against the counter, she discovered Sesshoumaru on his phone scrolling through an article on the Japanese response to the Industrial Revolution. Nearby sat a plump paper bag and briny pork broth wafted in the air.

"Is that ramen?" she asked. Pulling the bag close, she looked inside to find three to-go bowls stacked on top of each other. Half-eaten, another bowl sat beside him piled with slices of pork. "Is that just pork cutlet? No noodles?"

He nodded.

"It's not really ramen if there aren't any noodles."

He shrugged.

A thought occurred to her, and she paused, confused. "Where did you get ramen?"

"It was a tribute."

"A tribute?"

He nodded.

She opened her mouth, another question ready. But then she closed it and decided to just let it be.

His eyes still on his phone, he absently shook a bottle of hot sauce over his bowl and a few drops dribbled out onto some of the slices. Deftly, he picked them up with his chopsticks and began to eat.

"I didn't know we had hot sauce."

"I was curious," he replied. "It's acceptable."


	15. Retribution

Chapter Fifteen: Retribution

Rolling through puddles from the previous night's rain, a gray sedan pulled up behind a scattered crowd of onlookers. A neatly dressed woman in a blue suit emerged and locked her car with a beep. Above her, the morning sun was bright behind the thick layer of clouds, turning the sky into a glowing gray-white that ached the eyes.

She had entered an old part of the city, a place known for outcasts and vagrancy, both then and now. Where everything had a greasy feeling that was hard to describe, as if no matter how many times it rained, it would never be clean.

She wove through the onlookers to the temporary barricade and one of the officers stationed there. Before she could reach for the badge that dangled from a lanyard around her neck, he waved her through. She frowned, his disinterest for protocol irritating her, but then she let it go. It was her obstinacy concerning rules and etiquette that had earned her this assignment in the first place.

A jumbled collection of police cars and forensic vans surrounded a crime scene and when she made her way past them, she discovered a line of police tape and dipped under it.

Ahead, blue canopies shielded the scene from the drizzle, and below them, people worked, setting down numbered cards and kneeling to take photographs. Under an opaque sheet lay the tragic shape of a young man's body, a pool of rain-diluted blood fanning out from his head.

At the edge of the scene, a woman with a long braid stood at a folding table, cataloguing bags of evidence before storing them in cardboard boxes for transport.

"Yoshino-san," the woman in the suit greeted.

"Detective Jin," Yoshino answered back, looking up from her work.

"What's the situation?" she asked.

"Homicide," she replied, confirming the obvious before elaborating, "We can safely assume that death was gun-related. Bullet entered the back of the skull. No exit wound. Judging by that and the size of the entry wound, I'd say it's a small caliber."

She nodded. "Close range?"

"Maybe. We'll know for sure when the medical examiner does the autopsy, but I did see some stippling around the wound."

"Any ID?"

"Yes," she replied and reached for a paper bag. When she opened it, she retrieved a smaller plastic bag from within. Inside was a simple wallet with a school ID card displayed on one side.

Jin pulled out her phone from her pocket and took a picture.

"He was bound at some point too." Yoshino waved to the photographer and he approached. After scrolling back through the photo history, he settled on an image of a young man's wrists with painful purple lines wrapped around them. "Ligature marks. Also, I can't confirm it yet, but I think a few fingers were broken."

"Tortured?"

She shrugged.

With her brow furrowed, Jin looked back at the body and the pool of blood. "Was he dumped?"

"No, considering the amount of blood, he was likely killed here." She looked to the marbled gray sky and frowned. "We might be able to find trace evidence, but with the rain…"

"Yeah… Maybe we'll get lucky and there was an eyewitness."

"This is Namidabashi. The Bridge of Tears. The most infamous execution site in this city's history," a voice said from behind them. "Nobody sees anything here."

Jin sighed. "Nakagawa."

Wearing a clear rain slicker over a rumpled gray suit, a man walked up beside her.

"Why are you wearing that stupid hat?"

"It's raining," he replied with a grin and tipped a worn-out fedora toward her. "Or it was."

"Also," she pointed to the rain slicker that he wore, "That's a women's style."

"Hmm, I didn't notice."

She sighed again. "You're a detective."

He shrugged and scratched at the stubble on his chin. "What's that got to do with it?"

"I don't want to interrupt," Yoshino spoke up, clearly wanting to interrupt. "But my team needs to finish working this crime scene before we lose any more evidence."

"My apologies," Jin said, nodding a polite bow. Then she clasped Nakagawa by the shoulder and escorted him away.

"See ya, Yoshino-san!" he said brightly.

"How did I end up with you as my partner?" Jin grumbled before letting him go.

"You know why," he said, pointing a finger at her chest. "You have the kind of charm that gets other people promoted."

She scowled.

"Please, you're a cop, not a lawyer. Stop proving my case."

They ducked past the police tape and wove their way around the cars and vans. When they reached the edge of the road, they could see below to a newer street that ran parallel to it. Nakagawa leaned over the railing to spy down at the ancient stone arches that divided the two roads, a rare glimpse of old Edo in a city that was constantly changing.

"Still, The Bone Street seems a bit much for some poor kid who pissed off the wrong people. There's something more to this," he mused.

"The victim was shot in the back of the head with a small caliber gun in a place that's historic for executions. And most likely tortured beforehand too."

"Definitely feels like a yakuza hit."

"Maybe we're overthinking it," she wondered.

"Maybe," he replied. "Did they find an ID?"

"Yes. His name is Takano Kisuke." She retrieved her phone from her pocket. After entering his information into an app, she selected the results. "According to the database, he's a local. Some run-ins, but the notes say that counseling was helping. His mother reported him missing a few days ago."

"Weird." He shrugged, and turned around to face her, his back against the railing.

"It's like he's a warning," she said thoughtfully.

"How so?"

"He's just some nobody kid, right? But he gets kidnapped and tortured? They're looking for information. If they had found it, then they would have just killed him and dumped him somewhere. But if they didn't, and if that information was about a person or persons…"

"They want to let them know that they're looking," he concluded.

"It's possible."

"It's desperate." He frowned. "Who's active in this area? Kuro-Sakura?"

"Yeah, but they've been on the decline. And it's been worse over the last couple months. I looked up their current status on the way over when the radio reported that the homicide might be yakuza-related."

"You're like a detective's detective, you know that? I don't have to do any work."

She sighed. "So, a lot of their Kobun members have been ending up in the hospital lately. Even a few Shatei. Maybe the older brothers and the family head are getting nervous."

"Someone's spooking them… Or something."

Jin scoffed.

"Come on," he needled her, grinning, "You've heard about it too. Some kind of demon hunting down criminals."

"There's no such thing as youkai."

Nakagawa raised both hands and gestured toward the buildings that surrounded them. "You can't tell me that in this place, there are no spirits present. This spot is literally called The Bone Street. Thousands of criminals were executed here. Butcher shops and tanneries still operate here. All those years of death and resentment have to add up to something."

"Whatever."

He laughed. "Or not. But someone's coming at Kuro-Sakura." He nodded toward the crowd loitering at the edge of the police barricade. "Let's go see if we can find some witnesses before we break the news to the poor kid's mother."

"I thought you said no one sees anything here."

"No one does, but you're going to stop calling me your partner if I don't start pulling my weight."

Her thoughtful reaction was all the confirmation he needed, and he laughed again.

They headed across the road toward the milling crowd. Not quite camouflaged against the overcast sky, something silver a top one of the apartment buildings caught Jin's attention. Her eyes rose to the roof where a figure in white stared down at her, its face a growling beast.

She gasped.

"Are you okay?" Nakagawa asked, pausing in his step.

She blinked. And then the roof was empty. "No, I just…"

He looked at her expectantly.

"It's nothing. I just thought I saw something."

He grinned and made spooky noises.

She lightly shoved him. "Let's go."

OOOOOOOOOO

The halogen lamp glowed over the metal door behind the night club. On the rooftop above, Sesshoumaru watched. Beyond the absence of slushy snow, the alley appeared no different than it had a week ago.

Under the light, two men waited, and when he gave the air a light sniff, he confirmed that they were same ones as last time. But despite their scent, they seemed different. Whereas before they exuded a calm detachment, tonight they fidgeted, sucking down their foul cigarettes as fast as they could light them. He wrinkled his nose at the tang of their body odor. Sweat poured from them on a night cold enough to freeze puddles.

They were expecting something to happen but acting as though the evening was progressing as normal.

He snorted. They were a lure for an ambush. But for who?

Sesshoumaru recalled the brash young man who rode a two-wheeled steel horse. There was a connection, after all he had assaulted these men and the murdered boy was someone he knew. Someone he mentored. But the man was also exceptionally cautious. And in any case, these men were far too nervous to be concerned about a human male who wields a staff.

They were waiting for him.

And if they were a lure, there were surely more waiting inside.

He smirked.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Why are we the bait?" one of the men asked, his hands shaking as he pulled the last cigarette from his pack and lit it with his zippo lighter.

"We're disposable," the other man replied indifferently, his restless scanning of the shadows belying the coolness of his tone. "We can pretend that it's because we're usually the ones who work the entrance. Or that you've seen the monster, so that makes you one of the few that's not laid up in the hospital over it. But it really just comes down to the fact that we're entry-level enforcers who've only ever been trusted as lookouts."

"When you put it like that…"

He scoffed. "Just survive. If the monster shows up and he gets taken out, we'll be Kobun members for sure. Maybe legitimate brothers if we do the job ourselves."

He nodded.

A sound clattered from the black maw of the alley.

Both men jumped, their cigarettes falling from their mouths. Reaching back, they grabbed the metal bats that leaned against the door, their eyes never wavering from the darkness.

"Go check it out," the second man ordered, giving his partner a hard nudge.

An expletive stuttered from the man and he lifted the bat up with both hands, ready to swing. Slowly, he ventured towards the shadows, his breathing ragged with fear.

The other hung back, watching, one hand gripping his bat and the other hovering over the door, poised to give the signal. He never saw the snarling mask appear behind him. His head collided against the door with a heavy metallic ring.

"Oh shit!" the first man yelled, spinning on his heel back toward the door. But as he turned, his partner crushed into him, tossed by the demon. He let out a grunt as he was knocked off his feet.

Entangled together, they struck the ground hard, tumbling through puddles and trash before sliding to a stop.

Waiting until he was certain that they were done for the evening, Sesshoumaru turned his attention to the door. Through the thick metal, he could hear men giving orders. From the direction and clarity of their voices, he assumed that there was a long hallway flanked by a room on either side.

Inhaling deeply at the door hinge, he teased out what scents he could. The muddled stink of humanity made it difficult to narrow down how many waited for him inside, but it was the chemical odor of gunpowder that interested him the most. Even with his new armor, the hallway was a death trap.

As he considered his options, his eyes rose to the yellow light of the halogen lamp above him. He had an idea.

OOOOOOOOOO

In silence, the men waited. They loitered in each room and leaned out at the fortified doorframes. Behind overturned furniture, they hid at the rear of the hallway, their guns ready. The loud bang against the alleyway exit had been more telling than the signal they had planned with the lookouts earlier. Something was out there. They only needed to wait.

The wrenching whine of metal cried out, and then the exit door disappeared. Without it, the wintry chill rushed in. Somewhere beyond, there was the heavy clatter of the door being cast away.

The sharp pops of gunfire filled the air. They were immediately followed by even sharper commands. Silence returned.

With a tinkling crash, an object struck the hall light and it shattered into a shower of glass. Black consumed the hallway except for the weak lighting of the adjacent rooms and the lonely yellow glow that shone in through the gaping doorway.

Another pop. Another steadying command.

The room to the right shuddered as the wall facing the alleyway exploded into a hail of concrete and brick. Through the hole, a crowbar flew, striking the light fixture. Darkness fell.

Panicked breathing and thundering heartbeats swelled. The men closed ranks, their weapons trained on the jagged hole and the shadowy alley lit by yellow beyond.

A man sighed, feeling the comforting hand of a brother on his shoulder. Then it squeezed and the world spun as he flew forward. The demon was already inside.

Guns were torn from hands and followed by metallic crunches. Desperate as their terror mounted, those armed with bats began to swing, striking their brothers and adding to the turmoil and panic.

One by one, they were lifted away, their bodies flying out into the night to strike the far wall of the alley. For every man who spilled into the room from the hallway, another joined the slumped mass outside, groaning in pain. Until there was only one left.

Fumbling into his pants, the man pulled his cellphone from his pocket and the flashlight switched on. The soft white light filled the rubble strewn room around him. He stumbled about, disoriented by the chaos. And as he turned around, the light flared brilliantly against the towering demon. The mask glowered down at him as two hands took him by the shoulders. Then the room and the light fell away as he too was cast out into the night.

Lit from below by the dropped phone, the demon looked around. Except for the distant groaning, he was surrounded by silence. With a light sniff, he tested the air. No enemies remained, at least not in the open spaces. But somewhere deeper within the building, he sensed desperation mixed with cologne.

He approached a wall and jumped up to yank his crowbar free. Darkness enveloped him again as he left the room for the hallway. When he reached the end, he brushed aside the furniture turned makeshift barriers. Behind them, he discovered a locked door. The doorframe splintered as he tore it away.

Beyond it was a large room lined with tables topped by green felt. Playing cards and poker chips were scattered across them and the thick scent of cigars and liquor soaked every surface. And on the far side in front of a bar, a man in a tailored suit waited.

The pop and the impact were almost simultaneous. The demon felt at his chest.

Gun in hand, the man laughed breathlessly. But before the gunshot echo faded, the demon was gone, and his elation evaporated.

Sending out sprays of cards and chips in his wake, the demon leapt across the tables, closing the distance between them. The man raised his gun again, but before he could take aim, it was too late. The demon swatted the weapon away and then grabbed the man by the collar to slam him down onto the floor. And there the man lay, writhing and coughing.

The demon walked behind the bar. On the floor, he discovered a large duffel bag and peeking out from under the flap were bundled stacks of yen.

"What are you?" the man managed, wheezing in pain.

The demon pulled a bottle of dark liquor from a shelf, twisted off the cap, and gave it a sniff.

"Revolting," he said with mild disgust. "You would think that after five hundred years and all your inventions, humanity would do better than this." He tossed the bottle and it shattered against a table. More bottles flew as he emptied the bar. Soon the air was saturated with alcohol.

"Why are you doing this? What do you want?" the man asked, fear rising in his voice.

The last bottle flew. The demon leaned down and picked up the duffel, throwing it easily over his shoulder. "Youkai-brewed sake," he replied with a wistful sigh.

"What-?"

"Time to go, human." The demon produced a zippo lighter from his pocket.

The man's eyes widened, and he scrambled weakly to his feet. Stumbling and falling, he limped across the room toward the exit. With cool indifference, the demon followed. And when he broached the broken doorway, he lit the lighter with a casual flick and tossed it onto one of the sopping tables.

Flames erupted with a whoosh. From table to table, the fire leapt, devouring the room.

The man looked back. Backlit by the swirling torrents of orange and yellow that filled the doorway, the silhouetted demon stared at him, his eyes burning as hot as the fire.

"Please," he begged.

"Did the boy ask for mercy too?" the demon asked coldly.

"Please."

The demon approached, his body eclipsing the inferno swelling behind him. And then all went black.


	16. War Chest

Chapter Sixteen: War Chest

Dressed in a light coat and scarf, Kagome sprang lightly up the stairs and headed down the hallway. The house was refreshing despite the cold, and she realized that she was more than ready for laundry day. Or at least the first day of airing out the house after a long couple of months. It wasn't that there was a smell that she could name, but with five people and a cat in such a small space, the flood of fresh air was invigorating. In the afternoon, they'd close everything up and turn on the heater again, but in the meantime, she had chores to do.

"Sesshoumaru?" Kagome called out as she knocked on the door to his room. "It's laundry day. Can I come in?"

Through the rice paper, she heard the tinkling of a glass windchime and nothing more.

"Sesshoumaru, I'm coming in."

When she slid the door open, she discovered an empty room. If spartan was an aesthetic, then the daiyoukai was its most devout follower. A tatami mat floor and bare walls defined the space with a simple dresser as the only piece of furniture. Even his futon was gone and if she had to guess based on that and the open window, he had already mastered laundry day.

The temptation to poke around tugged at her, and she opened one of the dresser drawers. Seeing what was inside, she nodded. It was what she expected to find: very neatly folded clothes.

As she looked at them, a strange wave of dissonance washed over her. First, there was a hazy memory of resting her head against her father's chest in a hug. It was a small moment. Not tied to any major life event, but one that had just stuck with her unexpectedly through the years.

She blinked and it was gone. Before her though, lay the shirt that he had worn. Then unbidden, a new memory came to mind. One of Sesshoumaru standing behind Souta in the woodworking shed, teaching him how to cut angles using a miter box. The same shirt shared both memories, overlaying it with different meanings. With different shades of comfort and warmth.

Kagome touched the shirt, its weave thin after so many washings. And she remembered the silk refinement that the old Sesshoumaru wore and wondered if this was enough. If the prince was satisfied with the role of a pauper. If he had found a measure of comfort and warmth in these belongings like she did.

She closed the drawer. Then something dark caught her eye. Conspicuous simply by being present, a large black duffel bag sat on the floor in the corner of the room.

"It's not snooping if it's in plain sight, is it?" she wondered to herself, her question becoming rhetorical when she knelt beside the bag.

The flap over the top was askew to her curiosity's delight.

OOOOOOOOOO

Kagome stepped out into the shrine courtyard, the warmth of the springtime sun blunting the morning chill. As she walked, the great trees that lined the yard reached out above her, their skeletal limbs beginning to bud. She turned the corner and frowned. Ahead, she found a row of poles suspending freshly washed futons and linens, but no daiyoukai. At the end, she spied his tunic.

Drawn to it as she had been to the shirt, she reached out to touch it. It felt nicer. Thicker. But it was nowhere close to the finery he once wore, and her jacket pocket felt heavier. High up on the chest, she spotted a newly mended hole. At the very least, she knew that the armor they had provided could compete with his old gear even if it was more practical than ornate.

From the other side of the yard, she could hear the deep bellow of the shrine bell. Perhaps grandpa had seen him.

But when she approached the bell, she realized that it wasn't her grandfather performing the ritual. Wearing an ill-fitting set of shrine robes, Sesshoumaru stood atop the bell platform, mallet in hand. With a practiced precision that she knew he in no way practiced for, he struck the bell in rhythm.

"I've never had a good grasp of what irony means, but this feels close," she said with her head tilted and a hand on her hip.

An eyebrow raised, he looked down at her as he continued to ring the bell and admitted, "If I have learned anything about the divine, it's that they possess a sense of humor."

She laughed, knowing that to be painfully true.

"Your grandfather had an errand and so he requested my assistance with some shrine duties."

Her gaze gravitated to the dark crack that split the bell on one side.

"You need not worry," he added, "This place and I have an understanding now."

Kagome smiled in reply. And then she lingered, listening to the tolling bell, unsure of how to proceed.

"Do you require something of me, miko?" he asked.

She opened her mouth and then closed it.

"Speak."

"Are you happy?" she blurted out, already regretting her question but she had to start somewhere.

The bell tolling stopped. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable.

"Are you happy?" she asked again, more earnestly this time.

"I heard your question," he replied. "I'm still considering my answer. It's not a matter that I've been asked about before."

"No one's ever asked you if you were happy?"

"My emotional state has rarely been of interest. My happiness less so."

Concern knit her brow as she waited. And her pocket grew heavier for every second that passed.

"I'm neither happy nor unhappy," he answered finally. "But I'm also neither sad nor angry nor afraid. I neither hate nor love. If I embody an emotion it would be nothing. I am numb."

Kagome's eyes widened as if seeing him for the first time. The stoicism and inscrutability ran deeper than a guise or reserved aristocratic customs. Had he always been so devoid of feeling? No, she had seen him angry and had been up closer than she would have liked at the time. But to feel nothing? To be numb?

"Why do you ask?" he said, interrupting her thoughts.

She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a bundled stack of yen. "It's laundry day, so I went to air out your room and get your futon. But then I saw the bag…"

He continued to look at her, his expression perplexed. "How was that a reason to ask about my happiness?"

"Sesshoumaru, you have a duffel bag filled with millions of yen. I didn't even know where to begin. To be honest, I'm still processing it."

"I set a gambling den on fire," he explained, almost drearily. "It seemed a waste to leave it to burn. Spoils of war."

"This isn't the Sengoku Jidai," she said, purposefully ignoring the admission of arson. "You can't just take all this money and call it the spoils of war. Or tribute. Or whatever. I mean, what are you going to do with it?" Her chest tightened. "Aren't you happy here with us? Don't you feel like you belong? Or do you need something more? Something that money can buy?"

Silence passed between them.

"I'm satisfied here. I don't require more of anything."

"Then why do you have this?" Another possibility came to mind. "You weren't hoping to give it to us, were you?"

His brow furrowed as if he were at a loss. "Perhaps. However, in truth, I was simply unsure about what to do with it. It represents a human source of power that I'm both familiar and unfamiliar with."

"How long have you had it?"

"Two weeks."

Kagome ran her hand through her hair and sighed. "We can only offer to help so many times. Eventually you have to take us up on the offer without us doing it for you."

He chuckled. "I'm even more unfamiliar with that. For most matters, it doesn't occur to me to ask for help."

She laughed under her breath. "You know you're more frustrating than Inuyasha ever was."

"Of course. He was only half a youkai."

She smiled and added thoughtfully, "But you do realize that it's your greatest weakness, right? You might think it's not being as strong as you used to be, but even in your prime, asking for and relying on help from others was never your strong suit."

His eyes fell to the mallet in his hand. "When you are the youkai lord, others rely on you. I'm still compelled to protect. To prove my worth. To justify my existence, especially now."

"It's easy to make the decision to protect. I made it every time I jumped through that well. But I was never going to piece the Shikon-no-Tama back together again without being willing to ask for help. And I'm not sure if it needs to be said again but you're family. You do so much to help, whether you're asked to or not. But you don't have to earn your futon here. You don't owe us anything. Ever. If tomorrow you decided that you were going to lay about and eat ramen for the rest of your life, it wouldn't change that fact. You were family the moment we pulled you off that sword."

The faintest smile graced his lips and it lingered longer than she could have hoped.

"In that case, miko," he said, "I request your assistance. Please explain to this Sesshoumaru how currency works within the context of human power."

She blew out a breath.

He chuckled.

"Don't enjoy this too much."

"Permit me to rephrase," he conceded. "Tora-san explained human poverty as being a lack of power and influence over one's existence, and that hope is the opportunity to exercise some degree of control despite this fact. So, if hope is frequently represented as money and if a human has money, then they have the opportunity to change aspects of their existence."

She nodded. It seemed right. Or at least she knew that she was in too deep to back out now.

"To leave that money to burn in the gambling den would be akin to letting hope be destroyed. So, I retrieved it, however by saving it, I've now assumed responsibility for it. To what purpose do I apply this hope?"

"Is there a youkai equivalent to money? Or hope even?"

"Youkai were born with innate purposes, and they were compelled by their natures to perform them. For example, as an inuyoukai, I was driven to protect. Others were driven to craft. Or to hunt. We were primal. Creatures of the Earth who thrived on instinct. It's not that we lacked hope, but that we did not need to be incentivized to do our duty. A sake-brewing youkai made sake, and I as a daiyoukai would have taken it without needing to compensate its brewer."

"So, could any youkai take that sake?"

He hummed, considering her question. "No, there's a matter of entitlement influenced by intelligence and personal power."

"Personal power?"

"Youki."

She smiled. "I think that's it. Money is like youki. The more you have of it, the more influence and power you wield. It's just that if you're poor, it's not replenished as easily or sometimes not at all. Once it's spent, it's not coming back."

"If it's similar to youki, then they cannot heal without it either," he mused.

"What are you going to do?"

"There is no way to determine to what individuals this money once belonged. I have returned money in the past, but that was immediately following the theft. How do your police manage these situations?"

"I suppose if someone made a claim, the police might return it." She looked at the stack of yen in her hand. "But this they would just confiscate."

"Then that would be no different than allowing it to burn. The wealth would be lost and not reinvested back into the people."

He set the mallet back onto its cradle and leapt down from the platform to land beside Kagome.

"Heroism is more than punishing those who abuse the weak for their own gain," he said sagely, "To be a true guardian, I must also seek ways to empower the people and help them rebuild what they have lost or never had to begin with."

Kagome blinked, her mouth slightly agape. Was this really the same man that she had fought both with and alongside in the Sengoku Jidai? Had she really known him then? Did she even know him now?

"Miko, is there something wrong?"

"Uh, no," she mumbled, and then held out the money for him to take. "It seems you have a direction now even if it's not a plan yet."

He snorted and accepted it. Then pivoting on his foot, he turned to walk away.

"Do you really feel nothing?" she asked.

He paused, the rush of the surrounding city filling the quiet.

"Yes," he admitted. "But there are moments when there's something there. Something warm. Something akin to comfort." He looked back at her over his shoulder. "Something like… belonging."


	17. New Directions

Chapter Seventeen: New Directions

Wearing a sleek red shirt with black slacks, Tora peered out his window at the thunderstorm that raged outside. Piles of folders fat with paperwork overflowed throughout his office with more hidden in the cardboard boxes stacked on the floor. With appointments cancelled due to the heavy rain and home visits unappealing for the same reason, it was a slow day. And therefore, a perfect time for scanning the sea of documents he was adrift in. Once they were in the database, he'd be free to send them to the archive for shredding.

Yet, the scanner remained in power save mode.

Instead, he had spent the day rechecking his email and scrolling through his social media feeds on his phone. And occasionally, he looked at the case file open on his desk. The most recent one destined for the piles.

There was a light knock at his door.

"Yamato-san?" a woman called out.

"Come in…" he answered and then wracked his brain for a name. "Megumi-kun."

A college-aged woman peeked her head in and smiled. "Sorry to disturb you, but there's some guy here to see you. At least I think he's here for you."

"You're not sure?"

"Well, he seems like one of your people."

"Like one of my people?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

She motioned toward her hair and eyes. "I don't know. Like a punk."

His offended look sailed over her head as she stepped back to open the door, and he briefly considered the real cost of unpaid internships.

Dressed in a button-down shirt and beige pants, Sesshoumaru walked into his office. Megumi eyed both men suspiciously and then left, closing the door.

Dumbfounded, Tora stared at him as he walked around the cramped office, assessing the disorder.

"What the %$#@ are you doing here?" he finally managed to say.

"I have questions," Sesshoumaru replied and frowned at a dead plant he discovered.

"You have my number. What happened to texting? Or a phone call?"

"Not my preference."

Tora scoffed. "Now look—"

"Who is Yamato?" he interrupted as he read the ingredients on a dusty package of instant ramen he found in a filing cabinet.

"Th-That's my name."

"If that's your name, then who is Tora?"

He leaned back in his chair and sighed.

Sesshoumaru tossed the ramen back into the filing cabinet and waited.

"What I do at night is dangerous," he explained. "So, I use an alias to keep those who I fight from making trouble for me during the day."

"I'm not your enemy."

"Let's be clear. When I met you, you had just been shot twice and were bleeding all over an alleyway. And that was after you threw a car at somebody. I felt pretty good about not giving you my real name."

Sesshoumaru raised an eyebrow. "I threw a man across a loading dock."

"But you've thrown cars at people, haven't you?"

He shrugged.

"And…" he added, "And you're easily over one hundred and ninety centimeters of trouble in my office. Right now."

"A false name doesn't conceal your scent. A pointless effort."

"I guess so," he sighed and then perked up. "Wait, what do I smell like?"

"Human."

He shrugged before waving to the chair on the other side of his desk. "Have a seat. I'm sure you have more questions than that."

Sesshoumaru eyed the battered chair skeptically.

"You're wearing dad clothes. I mean, are those loafers?" He laughed. "Sit down."

He took the seat and somehow managed to pull off a simultaneously refined yet relaxed posture that made Tora unexpectedly self-conscious.

"It really is all about confidence, isn't it?" Tora remarked.

"And class."

He held up his hands. "I surrender. Please have mercy. My self-esteem cannot handle this kind of abuse. The only way this could possibly be worse is if you were outclassing me in an old yukata robe."

Sesshoumaru snorted. Then he leaned forward, his gaze on the open file in front of Tora.

"I guess he was saved for a week," Tora said, his amusement gone, and he began to leaf through the paperwork. "It's been almost a month since then but it's always hard to move on. Even when you did everything you could."

"Is that what all of these are?" he asked, gesturing to the paperwork that crowded the office.

"Yeah. Some of them are success stories. Most of them aren't. Some of them are still alive. Some of them aren't. All of them wanted something better for their lives. Sometimes just for themselves but usually for their families too."

"When we last spoke, you explained that your concept of heroism embodies the work that you do here. That saving a person from danger only matters in the moment. Instead, it's when you act to safeguard their future through hope that you become heroic."

"Right, but I do feel I need to clarify that saving a life is itself heroic. I don't want you to think that a fireman who braves a housefire to rescue a person isn't heroic. Death is the ultimate deprivation of hope."

Sesshoumaru gave him a dull look. "Of course."

He chuckled. "You're a youkai. Being extra clear seems like a good idea. Please don't kill me."

He smirked. "Aside from the advent of death, would you agree then that money is the greatest influencer of hope to the point of being its practical manifestation?"

He hummed thoughtfully. "I think that's too simplistic a perspective. But I can agree that I'm limited in what I can do in providing opportunities and guidance because of insufficient resources. Ones that do require funding."

Sesshoumaru reached into his pants pocket and dropped a bundled stack of yen onto the desk.

"So, it was you that burned down that gambling den," Tora said, running a hand through his crown of red hair.

"Retribution. And milder than I would consider appropriate. These are softer times."

Tora consciously avoided the suggestion that the person before him had likely killed more people than he had ever met. "You stole the money?"

"I accepted it as my responsibility. I have no interest in it otherwise. It's not tribute."

"So, what are you going to do with it?"

"That is the question that I came here to ask. I've learned that this currency represents a form of hope, and it's my duty to ensure that it's meted out appropriately. Failing to do so would be a personal failure as a guardian. As a hero."

"What do you want from me?"

"I seek your help in disbursing it."

"I don't know," he hesitated. "Helping you with this is its own kind of responsibility. How much did you take?"

"Two hundred of these."

"%$#@!" he half-shouted, nearly falling out of his chair. "That's like, what, two hundred million yen?"

He regarded him silently.

"Having that much money is dangerous. I'm surprised that they haven't at least tried to hunt you down. Maybe they thought it burned up in the fire. But even so, a two-hundred-million-yen loss in addition to the ass-kicking you gave them. Are you sure they haven't come at you? I mean, you like to brawl every night, so maybe you didn't realize it. Have you noticed any guys with machine guns lately?"

Sesshoumaru rose to his feet. "I respect your caution and the acknowledgement of your limitations. I will consider our conversation here when I make my decision."

"Wait," Tora said, his fingers drumming on the desk. "It's not fair of me to offer help, ramble about my opinions on poverty and heroism, and then walk away. It's not even necessarily about the money." His gaze wandered around the office and the stacks of case files. "It's just that I wouldn't even know where… to… begin… Huh."

Sesshoumaru waited.

"I have an idea. Tell me what you think."

OOOOOOOOOO

Steady into the black night, the downpour of the spring thunderstorm pounded Marunouchi, Tokyo's financial district. Yet through the torrent, the city lights reflected brilliantly against the glass skyscrapers and flooded streets. Down one thoroughfare, a cavalcade of dark cars drove, single file and slow.

With waves of water spraying as they passed, they navigated through the canyons of concrete and steel until they arrived at one of the greatest architectural achievements of the new century. Sharp against the dark sky, the tower dominated the cityscape, both in size and aesthetics. Through angles and lighting, it resembled the hilt of a katana as if the blade itself had been driven into the ground. Like a claim staked.

The procession pulled into the porte-cochere at the fore of the tower. On the curb outside the lobby, neatly dressed attendants waited. When the cars stopped, they poured forward, opening the rear doors with professional courtesy. In expensive suits of gray and black, men emerged from the cars. On the surface, they exuded the confidence that comes with expensive wristwatches and manicured nails, but the sharing of uneasy glances betrayed a deeper wariness.

In a white Armani suit and gold aviators, the last man emerged.

"Kurosawa-san," a voice called out to him. Flanked by his own entourage of men, a man in a dark suit with a flaring blue collar smiled warmly at him.

"Ishida-san," he greeted, not smiling in return.

"Terrible weather for such an auspicious occasion, wouldn't you say?"

Kurosawa scoffed.

Still smiling, Ishida gestured to the attendants, and they rushed to open the lobby doors. Kurosawa nodded to his men, and together they entered the tower. With black granite and brushed steel, the lobby embodied a polished severity. Yet despite the modern design, there were touches of tradition. As the guests were escorted to the coat check, they passed by an immaculate rock garden. And in the court in front of the elevators, an elegant water feature showcased bamboo fountains and a deep pool filled with silver koi fish.

The elevators dinged. Doors etched with mythical creatures opened, and the attendants within bowed as they welcomed the guests in.

"Hyousuke," Kurosawa said, giving the man to his right a brief sidelong look. Dressed in a conservative dark brown and tie, his lieutenant had always favored dignified practicality over flair.

Hyousuke nodded, staying beside him as the others filled the elevators. And when their turn arrived, he entered before Kurosawa.

While Kurosawa watched him give the elevator a quick inspection, his eyes settled on the man's bandaged left hand, the pinky missing all the way to the knuckle. Rage and regret bubbled under his mask of indifference.

"Oya-jii," Hyousuke called out to him. He waited in the elevator expectantly.

As Kurosawa stepped forward, another man fell in behind him.

"I'll ride with you if you don't mind, Kurosawa-san," Ishida said, his affability persisting.

Whether he minded or not was irrelevant as Ishida followed him inside. Together, they stood in front as the attendant selected the executive suite. The doors closed.

"These are truly unprecedented times," Ishida said, his eyes on the changing floor numbers. "To have the Kuro-Sakura Clan join our alliance."

"This isn't an alliance. This is a conquest," Kurosawa bit out.

He shrugged. "A matter of semantics. I choose to embrace the positive. The mutual gain that our respective clans will reap relies upon us sharing one strategic mind and body."

"Except that it's the Shikai Clan's mind and body."

"It's not much different than how the Kuro-Sakura Clan came into power, Raiden."

Kurosawa scowled at the use of his first name.

Ishida ignored him. "Your clan broke the mold three decades ago. Starting as an alliance between the Kurosawa racketeering clan and the Sakurai gambling clan, you became an empire. A yakuza clan with two oyabuns. Two fathers. Remarkable even now. The epitome of what can happen when trust and discipline are rock solid. Two generations of enlightenment, and then there was you."

"You forget yourself, Ishida-san," Hyousuke growled behind them.

"Do I?" he replied with a smirk as he eyed him over his shoulder. "Did I start the coup that imploded your clan?"

He glowered at him.

Ishida turned back to the floor number readout. "No, that was Raiden here. You wanted to be the only oyabun. But the Sakurai loyalties weren't as interwoven within the clan as you had bet. Perhaps if the Kurosawa had been the gambling side at the start, you would have been smarter about it."

"Are you finished?" Kurosawa asked coolly.

"The elevator doors are still closed," he answered with a chuckle and then dug in again. "You see, it's not that you staged a coup. Hell, if you measure success only by achieving your goal, then you won. You're the sole oyabun of the clan. Every loyal Sakurai brother and their leadership were wiped out. The family you didn't want is gone. Buried. But the beheading of your brothers wasn't a clean sword strike. That shit was messy and public."

"Make your point."

"This isn't the Sengoku Jidai," he said, his eyes on Kurosawa now, "We're not supposed to be warlords waging bloody battles in the streets. Your failure to control the violence during your grab for power put your neck out for judgment. You see, being in the yakuza means being respected by the public. Sure, they can fear and resent us, but when they go from thinking about it to saying it out loud, there's a problem."

Kurosawa scoffed, gesturing around the elevator but meaning the tower. "And this is such a nice fortress for the Shikai to judge me from."

Ishida shook his head. "You're as self-involved as ever. The screw ups of one clan taint the reputations of all other clans. We're all yakuza."

"Whatever."

"You don't recognize the respect you were given, which isn't surprising considering you didn't respect your own family. Even after your coup, our oyabun waited. You weren't judged until now."

"And why is that?"

Ishida glanced back at Hyousuke and his bandaged hand. "Need I elaborate?"

"Your oyabun reserved judgment when my clan went through a little restructuring, but decides to step in now over some vigilante demon in a mask?" Kurosawa growled.

"How many men were at that gambling den? Thirty? Forty? How much money did you lose? Let's not count the fire."

"Enough."

"The fact that your lieutenant here took his pinky off to his knuckle in repentance tells me exactly how that night went down. It tells our oyabun too. Worth mentioning that your racketeering side has been bleeding out for two months due to the same demon." He laughed. "Maybe you should take off a bit of your pinky too."

Kurosawa grabbed him by the collar, his rage boiling up. "Enough!"

Unfazed, Ishida regarded him with pity, "You're weak. Your clan is weak." Then he wrenched Kurosawa's hands free and fixed his collar. "If you want to survive, you better remember your place. But if you want to try and handle it like you did with your Sakurai brothers, we can do that too. Bare your neck again and we'll happily take your head."

The elevator dinged.

"Glad we had this chat, Raiden. Clearing the air and all that. See you in a few minutes. Oh and…" he clapped him on the shoulder, "Welcome to the family."

With a mirthless chuckle, Ishida left the elevator. Kurosawa and Hyousuke followed a few steps behind.

"Oya-jii," Hyousuke said under his breath.

"It's fine," Kurosawa replied quietly. His men were waiting outside the elevators, some already mingling with the Shikai brothers who had escorted them from the lobby. "We knew it was coming for some time. I thought dealing with the Sakurai would slow it down, but here we are."

"If I hadn't failed with the ambush…"

He closed his eyes. The lingering fear and shame surrounded Hyousuke in a fog and there was nothing he could do about that. "That was only an excuse to force our hand. Don't worry. You'll get your chance at redemption. I have a feeling our little demon is about to be someone else's problem."

"Excuse me, Kurosawa-san," a voice spoke up.

He looked over to discover a young woman dressed in a fine kimono of silver and white with splashes of green. She bowed.

"If you would come this way, we can begin the ceremony," she said politely and gestured down the hall.

He nodded, and then waved a hand to signal his men.

With the woman leading the way, they headed down the hallway. As they walked, the modern style that defined the tower gave way to a more traditional flavor with gray wood floors and rice paper screens. Upon the screens were exquisite watercolor murals displaying forest and mountain scenes in black, gray, and greem.

Soon they reached a foyer before a large room. The woman bowed and waited patiently as they removed their shoes. When they were finished, she knelt onto her knees and slid the door open. Kurosawa and Hyousuke entered first with their men following behind them.

Inside, they were welcomed into a grand hosting room. Despite being able to accommodate the leadership of both clans comfortably, it was also surprisingly intimate, bearing a quality reminiscent of the courts held by the feudal lords of old. Mats were laid out on the polished floor and at the head of each row, a kneeling woman waved the guests to their seats.

Already knowing his role, Kurosawa headed towards the front and the stage that awaited him. At the center, there were two mats before an altar laden with candles, dishes of salt, a pair of fish, and, in places of honor, the likenesses of three gods. It was an old tradition, the induction ceremony of prospective members and the promotion of brothers into positions of leadership within the clan. As a host and participant countless times, it had become almost too familiar for him. This was, however, the first time he would sit on the left-hand side.

He took his seat and began to scan the room. As beautiful as the murals were in the hallway, they were no match for the screens here. Lithe mythical creatures coiled and flowed through stunning mountainscapes, and while he wasn't known for appreciating the fine arts, he couldn't help but admire them. Seated nearby, a shamisen player strummed a song, something ancient and unfamiliar.

Then his attention settled on the raised platform just beyond the altar. Enclosed in bamboo shades, he could see glimpses in between the thin slats and discovered a silhouetted figure seated on the floor. The oyabun. The head of the monstrous Shikai Clan. He glared at the figure.

"Not the ideal way of introducing yourself, Raiden," a man warned.

Kurosawa turned toward the voice and found Ishida taking the seat to his right. His glare evaporated.

"Better," Ishida said and signaled to a fellow regional boss. "Shall we get this over with?"

The music stopped. The man approached, bringing with him a warm bottle of sake and a saucer-shaped cup. He handed Ishida the cup and ceremoniously poured sake into it.

Ishida sipped from it and then offered it to Kurosawa.

Hesitation froze him. Was this really it? The end of his clan wouldn't be in the glory of battle but on their knees. He felt his anger rise again. The time would come when he'd get his vengeance. Survival first. Then it would be his enemy's turn to bare his neck.

Kurosawa took the cup and sipped.

Both men rose to their feet and approached the altar. As Ishida poured offerings to the gods, Kurosawa watched the oyabun behind the shades, his rage seething.

Then iridescent eyes burned hot in reply.

His eyes widened with shock, and behind him, he heard Hyousuke gasp. Whoever the Shikai oyabun was, he wasn't human.


	18. The Journey of a Water Heater

Chapter Eighteen: The Journey of a Water Heater

"Bring me the two-inch screws," Sesshoumaru asked, plucking the power drill from his toolbelt. In the other hand, he effortlessly balanced the new water heater against the wall brackets.

"On it," Souta said, hopping off the bathtub cover. He picked up the hardware baggy and began to sort through its contents, palming the screws as he found them. "There were eight, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I have them all."

Sesshoumaru lowered the drill, so that the boy could fit the first screwhead to the magnetic bit. Then with a whine and a thump-thump-thump, he drilled the screw into place. A rhythm they repeated as they installed the next few screws.

Sesshoumaru released the water heater and it hung securely from the brackets. Souta raised his hand to give him the rest of the screws but he held out the drill's handle in reply.

"Screw in the last four," he commanded, his expression more pleasant than cool.

"All right!" Souta agreed, his eyes wide with excitement.

After handing off the drill, Sesshoumaru examined the mounting brackets on the broken balance boiler, an old-style water heater at the head of the bathtub. Dressed in matching navy-blue coveralls with customized name patches, the two worked: one dismantling the old and the other installing the new.

When Souta was done, he peeked over Sesshoumaru's shoulder as he unscrewed the mounting bolts by hand, a task all men and some socket wrenches failed at. He felt pride swelling in his chest and he started to grin.

"According to the plumbing basic guide," Sesshoumaru said, loosening the last bolt, "We need to close the gas line before we disconnect it here."

"Do you want me to go close it?" Souta asked.

He nodded and then without looking, he pointed toward a special wrench. "Ask Takano-san to show you where it is and use that wrench on the valve. Remember if the valve is open, it's with the pipe. If the valve is closed, it's against the pipe."

"Okay."

Grabbing the wrench on his way out, Souta trotted down the hallway past several apartment doors until he reached the last one. Knocking on it, he called out, "Takano-san?"

A few moments passed, and as he raised his hand to knock again, he heard the lock turn. The door opened and a kindly woman with gray-streaked hair smiled at him.

"Souta-chan," Ms. Takano greeted, "Did you need something?" Despite her cheerfulness, there was something about her that distressed him. A raw pain in the pink sclera of her eyes that made him look away.

"We need to turn off the gas. Do you know where the valve is?" he asked sheepishly.

"It should be by the meter. Let's go look for it together, okay?"

He nodded.

As she turned to put on her shoes, she revealed the tiny apartment behind her. Little more than a single room, it was a tidy space with few furnishings and one of those blocky televisions he'd seen in old movies and tv shows. On the floor by the entryway, there were packed boxes marked 'Kisuke'.

"Ready?" she asked.

He nodded again.

Together, they went outside and started following the perimeter of the building as they looked for the meter.

"Souta-chan?"

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me about yourself?" she asked and then hurriedly added, "It's all right if you don't want to talk. I was just hoping to hear a little bit about you."

"Um…" he began. They turned the corner and headed down the backside of the complex. "I'm nine years old. I live at a shrine with my mom, grandpa, sister, and… brother. We have a cat named Buyo, and he sounds like a cow when he meows."

She chuckled warmly.

"At school, I love to play baseball with my friends. And there's this girl that I like but I'm still figuring out how to talk to her. She's really nice, so…" He looked up at her. Her face was turned away but not so far that he missed the tear slipping down her cheek.

"I think those are the meters up ahead," she said quietly, her fingers sweeping across her face.

Two rows of box-shaped objects hung against the wall, each one suspended by a pair of pipes fed by a larger line. When they approached the array of meters, Souta scratched his head.

Ms. Takano hummed. "Let's look at each one and see if they have any markings telling them apart."

"Look!" he exclaimed, pointing to the faded scrawl of an apartment number defacing one of them. "We just have to find the one that's not a number."

Together, they scanned each one until they found the meter labelled 'Bath'.

With the wrench in hand, Souta recited the phrase, "With the pipe is open. Against the pipe is closed." Then he set the wrench over the knob of the valve and turned it perpendicular with the pipe. He said the phrase a few more times until he was sure he'd done it right and smiled up at her. "We did it!"

She smiled back at him. "You did it. Good job. You're quite the handyman."

His smile spread into a grin.

They headed back toward the bathroom and Souta regaled her with a few stories as they walked.

"But it's not ramen if there aren't any noodles, right?" he explained with a giggle. "Who gets a bowl of just pork cutlets?"

She laughed, the lines creasing at her eyes with genuine joy.

"Takano-san?" a voice called out, interrupting them. A man at the corner of the hallway thumbed back toward the front of the building. "The police want to talk to you."

She nodded. "I'll be right there." Then she turned to Souta.

He bowed his head. "Thank you for your help, Takano-san."

"Of course," she said cheerfully, but the joy was gone. And as he started to leave, she spoke up, "Souta-chan, would you do me a favor?"

He nodded.

"Would you let me hug you? I know it's an unusual request. You won't hurt my feelings if you say no."

He paused, unsure, and his gaze fell to the floor.

"Don't worry about it," she reassured, "Forget I asked, dear."

"No," he said, and he held out his arms, "It's okay."

Arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. She was warm and soft, but she didn't feel like his mama. Didn't smell like her either. A pang of guilt tightened his chest. As if somehow, he was betraying his mama by hugging another mother. But as he was about to pull away, he felt Ms. Takano shudder and heard a quiet sob as she rested her cheek on his head. And so, he stayed until she was the one who was ready to let go.

"Thank you, Souta-chan," she said, wiping the tears away. "You're a good son. Your mother must be very proud of you. And I hope… I hope to see you again soon." Then she left, walking down the hallway toward the front of the building.

Absorbed by conflicting feelings of guilt and pride, Souta wandered back into the bathroom. Inside, Sesshoumaru finished connecting the electrical and water hookups to the new water heater. The digital readout blinked, ready to go.

In a daze, Souta sat down on the bathtub cover.

"Did you close the gas line?" Sesshoumaru asked, skimming through the owner's manual for the heater.

Silence.

"Did you close the gas line?" he repeated, no longer reading.

Silence.

"Souta," he said, loud enough to jar the boy from his pensiveness.

"What?" he blurted out.

"Did you close the gas line?"

"Yes," he said, and then more quietly, "I'm sorry."

Sesshoumaru nodded as he cut the line to the boiler. Next, he ran the line along the wall up to the new heater. "Come hold the line while I install the conduit straps to anchor it in place."

Silence.

Letting the gas line fall, he approached the boy and touched his shoulder. "Souta."

Startled, he looked up. "I'm sorry."

"We're almost finished. Come hold the line."

Souta scooted off the bathtub cover and held the line against the wall as instructed while the daiyoukai screwed in the straps.

"What's troubling you?" Sesshoumaru asked as he stood up to inspect the excess length of gas line and where to best cut it.

"I'm okay."

"Humans are inclined to be hopelessly distracted when they're preoccupied by their troubles. And in my experience, your kind must talk it out to be cured. Or at least, to be functional."

He sighed.

"Speak."

"Is it normal to feel both good and guilty when you do the right thing?" Souta asked.

"How so?"

"Takano-san. Her son died and she misses him. So, to make her feel better, I let her pretend that I was him. But I'm not him. And she's not my mama. I think it made her feel better, and I'm proud that I could help her like that, but I feel bad because I betrayed my mother by pretending to be someone else's son."

"Do you believe that your mother would be upset about what you did?"

"I don't think so," he said, considering it. "No, she wouldn't be."

"Do you feel guilty about being alive when Takano-san's son isn't?"

"No, I don't."

Sesshoumaru cut the line and fit the adapter to the end. "I have found that when you help others, it becomes impossible to ignore the fact that what they may lack is something that you may possess. It's unfortunate that we cannot possess all that we need, but through helping, we may be able to share our possessions so that we all get what we need, if only briefly. You both exchanged the love of a mother and son so that Takano-san could possess what she needed in the moment. It was worthy of pride. But the love of your own mother isn't fragile, and you shouldn't feel guilty for having it. And…"

Souta looked at him, waiting for him to finish.

He chuckled under his breath and shook his head. "…And we all have our tragedies. The things that we need but do not possess. That's why we have each other. So that we may share and be whole."

He nodded. "I think I understand."

"Good," Sesshoumaru replied as he finished securing the line to the new water heater. "Go open the gas valve so that we can test the water and finish our task."

"Okay!"

OOOOOOOOOO

With the old balance boiler set upon his shoulder, Sesshoumaru ducked down to clear the doorway as he left the apartment building and entered the amber light of sunset. Souta followed behind him, his backpack filled with as many tools as he could comfortably carry. Across the gravel yard toward the street, three people conversed. Souta recognized Ms. Takano but the other two, a man and a woman, were strangers.

"We're doing what we can, Takano-san," the man in the wrinkled suit reassured. "We just wanted to follow-up and let you know where we're at."

"Thank you, detectives," Ms. Takano said with a polite bow. "I appreciate that you met with me in person. It's more than I expected."

"Of course," the professional looking woman said, returning the bow.

Ms. Takano turned away from them to head toward the apartments. "Sesshoumaru-kun and Souta-chan," she greeted affectionately when she spotted them. "Are you finished?"

"Yes," Sesshoumaru replied, "The new water heater is installed and working. It's a more modern design than this one, but I'm certain that you and the other tenants will master it quickly. And to that point, I've left the owner's manual should you require it."

"Thank you again," she said with a deeper bow, "We haven't had hot water in the bathroom since the summer. You have no idea how much this means to us. Thank you."

He nodded his bow, accepting her gratitude.

"And thank you, Souta-chan. For everything today."

Souta smiled, his cheeks flushing. "We'll see you again soon, Takano-san."

They passed her as she went inside. Ahead, the woman turned away to walk toward the street, but the man remained behind. With his eyes fixed on Sesshoumaru, his mouth dropped open. The woman turned back again and grabbed him by his sleeve.

"Nakagawa, you're staring," she growled as she tugged at him. "It's embarrassing. Who raised you to stare at strangers?"

"But, it's not possible," he muttered as Sesshoumaru passed by. "A man can't just carry a balance boiler like that. They're heavy. Like really heavy."

"She's right. It's not polite to stare," Souta scolded as he followed a few steps behind.

"My partner is being reprimanded by a child," she said, rubbing her forehead. "This is my life now."

"But—" Nakagawa began.

"Just stop."

Leaving the two onlookers behind, Sesshoumaru and Souta approached the covered trash disposal area by the street. There they discovered a disheveled man picking through the bins. Nearby, a rickety two-wheeled cart sat tipped forward, its bed filled with assorted rubbish, small appliances, and electronics.

Souta fell in close behind Sesshoumaru and peeked out nervously.

Hearing the crunch of gravel, the man retreated from the bin as he spun towards them. His face dirty and weathered, he shrank back when he saw Sesshoumaru, but his eyes lit up when he spotted the boiler on his shoulder.

"What are you going to do with that?" he asked, pointing to it.

"Dispose of it."

"Give it to me," he insisted. "If you're throwing it away, then give it to me."

Sesshoumaru glanced at the cart. "No."

Emboldened, Souta leaned out further to get a better look at the man. He looked like a patchwork of old worn out things. As if nothing he owned had been his until it had been thrown away by another. Feelings of pity and disgust stirred in his stomach.

The man's face fell at the rejection, but then his anger boiled to the surface. "Why? You're throwing it away. Do you think I'm not good enough to have it?! That I don't deserve it?!"

"No," Sesshoumaru said, his tone cool.

"So why are you judging me?!" he spat.

"I'm not," he replied. "Your cart is overburdened with salvage. It cannot support the boiler as well. So, I will not give it to you unconditionally. If you want it, you must let me carry it to where you reside."

The man sputtered, his anger transforming into confusion.

"You do not have room for it on your cart and if I leave it here, another may claim it before you return. If you let me accompany you to where you reside, then you won't have to give up anything."

He paused, mulling the offer over.

Unhurried, Sesshoumaru waited.

"All right."

Still eyeing them warily, the man shambled over to his cart and picked up the tow bar at the front end until it was upright again. Then he began to pull. The cart squeaked forward, and they headed down the street.

Closer to Sesshoumaru than his own shadow, Souta followed behind him anxiously.

"There's no reason to fear," the daiyoukai reassured. "You're in no danger."

"Why are we taking the boiler to his house?"

"Because he deserves it."

"Why does he deserve it?" he asked skeptically.

His pace unchanging, Sesshoumaru turned slightly to the side to gaze back at him. The look lasted long enough to make Souta fidget. Then he faced forward again. "I will explain my reasoning and if you do not support it, then I will refuse this man the boiler. Will that be satisfactory?"

Souta thought on it, and then nodded.

"I will preface my argument with the fact that I'm a youkai, and as one, there isn't much about humans that distinguishes them from each other. While it's true that every human has a unique set of characteristics that identifies them and there are humans, like you, who are important to me, as a whole, you're as indistinguishable as a school of fish. It's no different than how I imagine humans have perceived youkai in the past."

He nodded.

"On the surface, it would appear to be a boon. As I have read through your history to better understand this new world, nuances of class, race, and culture have been revealed to me. But the differences they create remain theoretical. In practice, humanity is still a singular entity. You're all the same to me. And so, the prejudices and inequities that you apply to each other have no effect on my judgments of you.

"But if I'm blind to your differences, then I'm also blind to the experiences and traumas that these prejudices and inequities create. I need guidance if I'm to raise the people up who have been preyed upon by others. If I'm to be their guardian."

"But that's why you have the list from Tora-san," Souta argued.

"True," he conceded. "Tora-san provided an extensive list of people in need and has been generous enough to contact them regarding what we can provide. This man we're helping now is unlikely to be on the list, but does that mean he doesn't deserve our help?"

"Maybe. The money you found wasn't his, or at least, it doesn't seem like it could have been. Takano-san lost her son over it, so we know she deserves it."

"She does, but the fate of that money has never been about who it belonged to before me. When there is no way to return it to the rightful owners then it becomes less a matter about who we give it to and more about how we give it." He waved his free hand toward the neighborhood. "There's no person here who isn't suffering. No person who has needs that don't require help. The list is only a place to start."

Souta sighed, his mind awash with the memory of a mother who needed a hug. "He just doesn't seem like he appreciates it, I guess."

"Ah," Sesshoumaru said, raising an eyebrow. "Answer this question for me: Does doing the right thing need to feel good to you?"

"No, I mean… I don't know."

"Even if this man doesn't appreciate our efforts to the degree that's satisfying to us, that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve our help. Doing what's right can make us feel good, but even with the absence of that feeling, we're still required to do it."

He rubbed his arms. "You're right."

"Will you permit me to give him the boiler?"

Souta's gaze rose to the man's back. Hunched but strong, he pulled the cart with a steadiness that came with long years of hard labor. And he had so little to show for all that work.

"Yes, he deserves it," he said. "And more." With his answer, he felt a hand touch the top of his head in a gentle pat.

"Good," Sesshoumaru said, and then took his hand away.

Souta smiled softly in reply, the praise bittersweet.

Steering the cart wide, the man headed down an alleyway. The waning sunlight threw it in deep shadow, but at the end, Souta could make out the shapes of makeshift tents and debris fashioned into furniture. Bundled in layers of clothes, two others appeared in the chaos, climbing to their feet. A woman and a teenage boy, they approached the man and began to pour through his haul, sorting the contents.

"You can set the boiler down there," the man told Sesshoumaru, pointing to an empty spot along the wall.

And with ease, he did just that.

"Thank you," the man said in a voice that seemed unaccustomed to the phrase and he followed it with a polite bow.

Sesshoumaru returned the bow with a nod. And with a hand on Souta's shoulder, he guided him back out of the alleyway and they strolled down the street toward the closest train station. The streetlights winked on as they walked.

"You're not disappointed in me, are you?" Souta asked, biting his lip.

"No. We're all learning. And for as much as I teach you, you teach me."

He rubbed at his eyes, tears spilling, and the hand on his shoulder drew him in closer.


	19. A Favor

Chapter Nineteen: A Favor

Sesshoumaru leaned forward, the midday sun warm against his back. Holding an air-powered staple gun in his hand, he set its nose against the wooden batten. With a sharp thump, the gun shot a nail into it, securing the batten to the one beneath it. Sidestepping, he moved to the next one over. And with a steady rhythm, he made his way across the roof, nailing together the latticework of thin wood planks that overlaid the deck.

Reaching the end at the roof hip, he straightened up and assessed his progress thus far. The shrine roof had been in better shape than expected. Only in a few places had he needed to replace the plywood deck due to rot. For the most part, the roof had only needed a new layer of weather stripping. Once he was finished installing the latticework of battens, then he could nail the roofing tiles into them and be done.

As he walked back across the roof to start the next set, the breeze shifted. He sniffed, catching a familiar scent originating from the long flight of stairs at the shrine entrance.

"Souta," he said.

Sitting on the roof ridge above him, the boy looked up from his tablet.

"We have a guest. Please prepare some tea and an appropriate food to accompany it."

"Okay!" Souta replied, tucking his tablet into his coverall pocket. He headed down the deck, each foot on a batten until he reached the ladder. Then with a cautious awkwardness, he climbed onto it and made his way to the ground below.

Sesshoumaru leaned forward again and set to work stapling. When he was halfway across the roof, a voice called out to him.

"Good morning, Sesshoumaru!"

Standing up again, he turned around and looked down to find a man in a red bomber jacket and black skinny jeans.

"Tora-san."

Tora sighed. "You can call me Yamato if you want. I mean, I've seen you half dead, so I think we can be on a real name, even familiar, basis."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Or not…"

Sesshoumaru set the staple gun down, and with ease, he leapt down to land on the ground beside him.

Smiling, Tora shook his head. "Who needs ladders, right?"

"Would you like some tea?" he offered.

He nodded. "I would."

The front door opened and Souta burst out. "Tora-san!"

He sighed in resignation, and then grinned. "Good morning, Souta-chan."

"Mama is making tea. Also, do you like daifuku?"

"Uh, yeah, that's fine… So, your mom is here?" he asked, his tanned cheeks blushing slightly.

"Yep. Come inside!"

With Souta leading the way, Sesshoumaru and Tora followed. In the entryway, they pulled off their boots. And when they entered the living room, they found six cushions laid out around the low table.

"Good morning, Tora." Mama greeted from the kitchen. The fresh aroma of jasmine green tea wafted in the air. She set the steeped pot of tea onto the large tray beside some nested teacups and a dish of leaf-shaped cookies. "What a wonderful spring we're having, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, his blush returning, and he smoothed his crown of hair.

"The street punk is back, eh?" Grandpa grumbled as he thumped down the stairs.

"Grandpa…" Kagome sighed, a few steps behind him.

Mama laughed. "Come on, everyone. Let's all sit down."

Together, they found their places around the table.

"So, what brings you here this morning, Tora?" Mama asked, pouring tea into his cup before handing it to him.

Graciously, he accepted it. "I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced. I tried texting and calling, but it's not someone's preference."

She smiled, and with a wink, she handed Sesshoumaru his cup of tea. "We've learned that lesson already."

The daiyoukai gave them both an indifferent look and took a sip.

"Well, we're happy to have you over."

"Thank you. I just wish it was under better circumstances." He turned to Sesshoumaru. "I know that I said that I was here to help you with whatever you needed, but I need your help this time."

Sesshoumaru nodded, listening.

He took a deep breath. "One of my kids is missing. Her name is Ito Amaya and she hasn't checked in during the last two weeks. I wasn't too worried until her school called to let me know she's been absent for all that time. She has her troubles, but this isn't like her."

"What about her family?" Mama asked.

"Uninvolved. Both her parents bailed on her, and she's been bounced around to different relatives ever since. I've called her current guardians several times, but they haven't been forthcoming. Only telling me that she hasn't come home and nothing more."

"That's terrible."

"How old is she?" Kagome asked, her eyes hard.

"Fifteen," he replied.

"In what manner would you like help?" Sesshoumaru asked.

"I just want to find her, whatever the situation is. I hope she's just run away, but there have been rumors of girls disappearing, so I'm worried that something worse has happened to her. I figure with your, I don't know, extraordinary senses that you could maybe track her down."

He nodded.

"We can start at her house. Maybe there's something there that you can use to find her, and I'll try to get as much information out of her guardians as possible."

Kagome reached across the table towards Tora. "When you go, can I go with you?"

"I don't know…" he hesitated.

"I can pretend to be a friend from school. I know I can help too. She's a year younger than me. I want to do something."

"I understand, but—"

"You may join us," Sesshoumaru interrupted, finishing his cup of tea.

"Wait—"

"She's capable," he assured with a look that was nonnegotiable.

Kagome looked at him, surprised. Then a smile grew across her lips.

Tora eyed them both suspiciously before sighing. "Okay."

"Good. When are we going?" she asked.

"I was hoping this evening. Her guardians said they'd be available then."

"That will be satisfactory," Sesshoumaru agreed as he rose to his feet. He had enough time to finish installing the battens and begin rehanging the roofing tiles.

"Tora-san, since you're here, do you want to help with our roofing project?" Souta asked eagerly.

"Do you have coveralls for me too?" he replied with a laugh.

"Sure!"

"Hold on. You're serious?"

"Think of it as a courtesy for dropping by unannounced," Mama offered. "I'll go get you something to wear."

"Uh, sure…" he mumbled, his voice drying up. "%$#@."

Grandpa grumbled under his breath.

OOOOOOOOOO

The sun set behind the suburban skyline, turning the western sky a brilliant orange that ripened to pink as it reached east. Dressed for the cool evening, Kagome and Tora walked up a narrow roadway, heading toward a nest of apartments and small houses at the crest of a hill.

Somewhere nearby, a citrus tree bloomed, its sweet scent mixing with jasmine. Kagome breathed it in with a sigh. The neighborhood, while cramped even by Tokyo standards, had a comfortable feeling to it. A sense of community that threaded its way through every home and bodega.

Twisting from side-to-side as he walked, Tora stretched. "My Saturday did not turn out how I expected it."

She laughed.

"I feel like I'm outnumbered by just one member of your family. All five of you is more than unfair. Are you all related to lions, because I'm pretty sure your shrine is the proverbial den."

"Considering our history with inuyoukai, it's more likely wolves."

He chuckled. "Well, I'm always looking for a new skill to screw up on, and today that was roofing."

"I'm sure you didn't do that bad."

"Sesshoumaru took my hammer away."

"That's pretty bad."

"Souta got to keep his, by the way. I spent the whole afternoon laying out the tiles and handing them nails, which was absolutely the right decision. It's just extra embarrassing when a nine-year-old shows you up in front of a youkai."

"A youkai lord. A former one at least."

"Oh, that makes it better."

Reaching the hilltop, they headed north along a snug row of houses, the greenish-white glow from the streetlights guiding their way. Midway along, Tora stopped in front of a home as nondescript as its neighbors.

"This is it," he said.

"Good," Kagome replied, her voice hard. Distant relatives or not, this family had some explaining to do.

He looked at her, his expression startling with its seriousness. "Kagome-san, I know that being here is important to you. Sesshoumaru vouched for you, and there are very few people that I respect more than him. I just want to be clear about why we're here. We're looking for clues about what happened to Amaya. If something seems off, we're not here to condemn or accuse anyone of wrongdoing. We're not here to confront."

Her brow furrowed. "But—"

"I know. Trust me I know. I've seen some terrible things. However, this is my job, and the police, they have their job. If we see anything illegal, we pass it on. But you should know that not everything bad is illegal. Not everything inhumane is against the law. And even people who are family by blood aren't always family by heart."

"I understand," she said, her jaw tight with frustration.

He looked her in the eyes, assessing her resolve. "You're passionate. And from the way you field operated on Sesshoumaru when he was shot, I can tell that you've seen a lot too. I trust that you might find something or have some insight that I won't have here. If I didn't believe in you, I wouldn't have agreed to you coming along. Okay?"

She nodded.

He smiled, his usual affability warming his face again. "Sorry if I was harsh."

"It's all right. I get that there's more to this."

"You're a very authentic and direct person, which I appreciate. We'll find out the truth, and if it's bad, those responsible will get what's coming to them. One way or another."

She smiled. "Good."

Giving her a wink, he took the lead and walked toward the front door. When he reached it, he gave it a loud knock and waited. After a few moments, the outdoor light flicked on and the door opened a crack. Through it, a man peered out.

"Ito-san," Tora greeted warmly.

"Oh," the man grumped and opened the door the rest of the way.

Dressed in a plain polo shirt and pants, he seemed unremarkable to a fault. Standing behind him, a woman in a patterned dress waited, her appearance as average as his. Ordinary people living ordinary lives in an ordinary place.

"Yamato-san, come in," Ito said, waving. Then his hand paused.

Tora looked back. "Oh, this is Kagome. She's a friend of Amaya's from school, and she was hoping to help us find out what happened to her."

"Oh."

"It's nice to meet you," Kagome said, bowing politely.

"It's nice to meet you too," he repeated back automatically

"Is it okay for her to come in?" Tora asked. "Maybe she can check Amaya's belongings for a clue."

Ito shrugged. "If it will satisfy you."

"Thank you."

Tora pulled off his boots and set them neatly beside the other shoes in the entryway, and Kagome followed suit, placing hers next to his. Beckoning at him, Ito shuffled into the living room.

"Would you like some tea?" he offered. "I can't imagine this will take long, but I thought I'd ask."

"No, I'm fine," Tora replied, following him. "I appreciate the thought though. Have you filed a missing persons report with the police yet?"

"No, I don't see why it's necessary. She probably ran away with some older man. She's just like her mother. Ungrateful."

"In that case, what can you tell me about her last day here? Anything memorable?"

"I don't know. She was the same as usual. Too much makeup and too little clothing. You'd think she was a whore."

Her face turning red, Kagome gritted her teeth in anger. How could anyone think so little of their family? Perhaps she wasn't his daughter, but she was still blood. And even if she wasn't blood, to be that uncaring and rude about another human being, someone who could be suffering or worse right now. It was more than she could take. She had tacitly promised Tora to let him handle it his way, but she wasn't sure she could keep her word.

"Kagome-san," a voice spoke up.

She blinked, her rage interrupted.

The woman smiled at her. "Amaya's room is this way."

She nodded in reply.

The woman led her down the short and narrow hallway to a door. When she slid it open, she revealed a small storage room. One side was piled deep with boxes and an old shoji screen stood folded against the wall. On the other side, there was enough floor space for a futon, one that was already missing from the room.

"Thank you," Kagome said and went inside.

The woman nodded and lingered in the hallway, her attention rarely straying from her guest.

Spying some pictures pinned to the base of the wall, Kagome knelt down. They were prints of j-pop stars and popular social media models at the eye level of a girl hidden away in what was little more than a closet. Scrawled at the bottom of one picture was an unfamiliar social media handle. She pulled out her smartphone and typed it into the internet search feature. Links came up for several social media platforms, and when she clicked on one, she was treated to a host of posts. To photos of a pretty girl trying hard to be seen. Impending tears ached her eyes.

"Kagome-san," Tora called out to her softly.

She looked up, blinking away the tears.

"Did you find anything?"

"I think so," she said, holding up her phone.

"Good."

"Oh!" she blurted out, and then looked to the woman. "Is there something of hers that we can have? A memento for when we find her?"

OOOOOOOOOO

Darkness settled over the neighborhood, turning the sea of residences to black in the moonless night with only the light emanating from windows and doorsteps revealing its depth. Cradled in the nook of her arm, Kagome hugged a worn-out Hello Kitty doll as she swiped and tapped at her phone screen. Soon, she settled on the social media image feed she had discovered earlier.

"There has to be a clue somewhere in here," she said, scrolling through the pictures.

Walking beside her, Tora scrolled as well. "It's not a good sign that the last post was two weeks ago."

"I know."

Her brow furrowed. "What's this?"

He leaned over to see her screen. Using her thumb and forefinger, she zoomed in on a selfie of Amaya. In the background was a slick looking LED sign.

"The K-Lin Lounge?" she said, frowning.

Tapping his forehead, he wracked his brain. "I think that's a gaijin bar in downtown."

She smiled. "Well, we have our first clue."

"We do," he agreed.

"And if it's a bust, we can go back to her home and look for more clues."

"Maybe." He started to scroll through his address book on his phone. Then he selected a number and put the phone to his ear.

"Who are you calling?"

"The police," he replied. "I'm filing the missing persons report. Aside from the fact that it's my duty to call as her social worker, Amaya's guardians are responsible for her, whether they want to be or not. They don't get to %$#@ing pretend that she just went away."

"Good."

"And I'm sure they'd rather deal with the police than with a certain someone who was lurking on their roof."

She chuckled, more than a little disappointed. "I'm sure."


	20. Parking Validation

Chapter Twenty: Parking Validation

A blaze of lights bloomed across the city, blanketing the downtown skyline in a diffuse glow that pushed against the cool night. Hanging from the sides of the buildings block-after-block, countless signs beckoned. Their kanji and cartoons blended together, creating an alluring kaleidoscope of colors and patterns. Below them, the streets bustled with people, the late hour reduced to nothing more than a number on a clock. Locals and tourists mixed together, their missions the same. To find the exotic. To embrace the diversions. And to make their discoveries while connecting with each other. With friends. Family. Humanity.

On the third story of a concrete parking structure, two figures watched the street below. At the corner of the intersection, a line of people waited in front of a nightclub. Above the double doors that marked the entrance was a sophisticated electric sign in green font, The K-Lin Lounge.

Kagome leaned forward onto her forearms, her eyes fixed on the nightclub below.

"Are you sure that you can't sense her anywhere?" she asked, her toe tapping anxiously against the pavement.

Dressed in his long white coat that concealed his costume, Sesshoumaru stood beside her, his arms crossed and his expression mildly irritated. "I'm certain that I cannot sense her," he replied dryly.

Her attention remaining mostly on the nightclub, she gave him a sidelong look. The same color as his eyes, his face reflected the amber glow of the city. "So, the doll doesn't help? Which by the way, I'm forever entertained that you, of all people, are carrying around a Hello Kitty doll."

"If it will placate you." Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulled out the old doll. He put it close to his nose and inhaled lightly. The scent of a human girl mixed with detergent, linens, and a decade of places and experiences, creating a unique profile. After tucking the doll back into his pocket, he tested the air with a long sniff, and the muddy crush of the city filled his nose.

"Well?" she asked hopefully.

With his eyes closed, he shook his head.

She sighed, disappointed. Then brightened. "How about if we were closer?"

He sighed. "It doesn't matter. Time is against us. Between the thousands of humans who have passed through here over the last two weeks and the deterioration of any scent that she has left behind in that time, we're at an insurmountable disadvantage. I'm the best there is, and if I say that it's not possible, please accept it."

She blew out a breath. "I can't."

He nodded, unsurprised.

"But, you're right. Time is against us. And the longer this takes, the longer she's wherever she's at and probably not someplace good."

His gaze left the nightclub to rest on her. "Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why do you first suspect that this person we seek is someplace against her will? You don't know her, and it's not clear that she wants or needs to be rescued."

She blinked and her tone hardened. "Do you think that she's missing by choice, so you're not taking this seriously?"

His brow furrowed. "Planning and patience will ensure our success over impulsivity. I'm here, so that means that I'm committed. Do not doubt my resolve. Answer my question."

Eyes wide, she stared at him and backed a step or two away.

His expression didn't soften.

The tension broke with her sigh and she rubbed her face. "I'm sorry. I hurt your feelings and that was wrong of me."

He blinked, surprised. Whether it was from her apology or the twinge of acknowledgment he felt in his chest, he couldn't tell.

"I'm just worried," she continued unabated, "So many bad things have already happened to her, and if I can do anything to keep one more thing off that list, then I'm going to do it. She needs to know that someone cares."

"When we find her, she will know."

"If it was that simple then having a social worker like Tora would have been enough to keep her from a place like this. And maybe for some people, someone like him is enough."

"Not everyone can be saved."

"I know that. Believe me, I do. But this is something else. It took me a long time to understand it. When you come from such a supportive family like I do, you don't really think about how others might have a different experience. Or you think you get it, but you really don't."

He looked at her, curious.

"There's a way that not having family leaves you vulnerable and craving acceptance from wherever you can get it. That's how I know Amaya is in a bad place, even if she went there by choice. And if she's there and still okay, I want her to know what it means to be cared about. That it's something that shouldn't come with conditions."

Her gaze fell to the nightclub, and she laughed softly. "When I met Inuyasha, he was so angry and frustrated. It made him dangerous, at least in the beginning. All I was trying to do was adjust to being a reincarnated priestess and that whole thing with the Shikon-no-Tama. But the more time we spent together, the more I realized how important family and being cared about are. He spent so many years being ignored. And when he was seen, it was for the half of him that nobody wanted. He wanted so desperately to become a full youkai or a full human. To be anyone but himself so that the people who were supposed to be his family would accept him. For them to be both family by blood and by heart."

He closed his eyes, her words cutting deep.

"You see, if he could have wished on the Shikon-no-Tama, he would have discarded half of himself. I don't think it was until all of us, myself, Sango, Miroku, and Shippou, formed our group that he understood what it meant to be accepted and cared for as a whole person. To be loved for who he was. That he wasn't the one who needed to change to get that."

She clenched her fists, her voice seething. "Even now when I think about it, a part of me thinks about Souta. He's my little brother, and I can't even imagine being cruel to him. But, Inuyasha endured so much cruelty on the part of his older brother. He endured so much hatred and revulsion. He deserved so… much… better…"

He could feel her eyes on him. He could hear her breathing, shaky with anger that transformed into fear.

A long moment passed, and again the tension slowly dissipated.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I forgot who I was talking to."

He felt a twinge in his chest, but it wasn't acknowledgment this time.

"I—" she started, and then stopped.

His eyes opened and he gave the air a light sniff. "Tora is returning."

Crossing the street below, a man trotted away from the nightclub and towards the parking structure. They waited in silence, their gazes on anything but each other. Tora popped up from the stairwell and strode in their direction, waving.

"Did you find her?" Kagome shouted to him.

He raised both hands, palms up. "Nope, she's not there."

Her face fell.

"I did get some information. Maybe from it, we can figure out a plan."

When he reached them, he hopped up to sit on the half-wall she had been leaning against. When he opened his mouth to talk, no words came out. Instead, he glanced back and forth between them.

"What happened?" he asked, pointing at them.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it," she said quickly. "What did you learn?"

He frowned, eyeing them both critically. And then he shrugged. "So, as I was saying before, The K-Lin Lounge is a gaijin bar. Though I suppose this place isn't technically a bar since it's a nightclub, but the sentiment is the same."

"What's a gaijin bar?" Sesshoumaru asked.

"It's an establishment that caters to foreigners. Typically westerners. There's something inauthentic about them, so I'm not usually a fan, but this place has a different vibe than any of the other ones I've been to."

"How so?"

"Well, for one thing, it's crawling with yakuza."

Sesshoumaru snorted, unimpressed.

Tora shook his head. "These aren't the metal baseball bat guys you've been trashing on your nightly raids. They're much more professional and all of them are packing heat."

He looked at him quizzically.

"Guns. They all have guns." He sighed. "I don't even think they're from the same clan that we're used to, which is weird, because I'm pretty sure this is Kuro-Sakura territory. Maybe they formed an alliance with another clan or something."

"So, the yakuza means that they're doing something illegal here, and Amaya is caught up in it?" Kagome asked.

"It's possible," Tora replied. "At any rate, on the surface it seems like most gaijin bars. A lot of westerners, and I bought one of them a ton of drinks because my English is shit. He told me that if I liked my dates on the young side, then this was the place to be. That the proprietors could arrange something for me if I had the money."

She swallowed.

"Yeah."

"And Amaya wasn't there?"

"No. And I think… I think this place is the key behind why other girls have gone missing too."

"Should we call the police?"

"Yes, but we should make the first move. If the police hit them here, the clan might do whatever is necessary to get rid of any evidence. If this is sex trafficking and those girls are still alive somewhere, they'd be in even more danger."

"What do you think we should do?" she asked.

"How many gunmen?" Sesshoumaru said, his eyes pouring over the building as he reconfirmed the locations of the egresses and the structural weak points that he could see.

"Twenty, but I didn't have access to any of the private rooms, so we shouldn't rely on that being the minimum number. And taking on even that many would be suicidal. So, brute force is not our best option, as badass as you may be."

He gave him a flat look, unamused.

Tora tried his best disarming smile.

"We must isolate their leadership," Sesshoumaru said, "I can then persuade them to share what they know, and we will plan our next move after that."

"And if those twenty gunmen disagree? There has to be a quieter way of doing this."

"If you have money, can you pose as a customer?" he asked.

Tora sighed. "Other than not being a great actor, they've turned a gaijin bar into a front for a reason. What that foreigner doesn't realize is that they don't want local attention, and I'm one hundred percent native right down to my accent. And you're too foreign looking to be honest. I don't think you'd make it through the front door. Though if you ever want to go clubbing, I know some places where you'd kill it. Figuratively."

"What if I go?" Kagome offered.

He laughed. "You're way too young to go to those clubs."

"But that's the point here, right? What if I go?"

His face sobering, Tora looked at her seriously. "No, that's too dangerous. Something could happen to you. They could kill you."

"I spent over a year of my life in danger on an almost daily basis." She thumbed at Sesshoumaru. "How do you think I met this guy?"

He paused, uncertain.

"You said that you could tell that I've seen a lot. Well, I have. I can do this."

He looked to Sesshoumaru.

"You don't need confirmation from him," she said, seizing his attention again. "You need to believe in me. Just like I believe in you both. That you'll be there if I need you."

He stared at her, his mind working behind his eyes.

"You're right," Tora finally agreed, and he gave her a nod. "I believe in you."

"Let's make our plan," Sesshoumaru said, his gaze on the nightclub. "This girl needs our help."


	21. The Base Dropped

Chapter Twenty-One: The Base Dropped

"Are we sure that this is the best outfit for me to wear?" Kagome asked, tugging at her green pleated skirt. A white sailor top and knee-high socks completed her ensemble, a look she was normally quite comfortable in.

"Nothing says underage and vulnerable like a high school uniform," Tora admitted.

With his arm wrapped around her shoulders and hers around his waist, she huddled close to him, warding off the chilly night. A heady mix of cologne and deodorant filled her nose, and the warmth of his breath ghosted across her cheek. They were the image of a couple out for a fun Saturday night, and the intimacy of their mutual embrace had caught her off guard. She would have been blushing if his tone had been anything but concerned.

"Act natural," he said, his smile fake to anyone who knew him. Together, they took a few steps forward.

"You're a much better actor than you think you are," she griped.

He chuckled. "You don't have to be as convincing as me. They're going to underestimate you from the start, which will be to your advantage. Just act natural and follow the plan."

She nodded.

"What else?"

"Don't drink anything that anyone offers me. Politely decline or fake sipping it."

He nodded, and they walked forward again.

"Flirt with the patrons, but the person we want will be Japanese, and likely a yakuza member."

He nodded. "You remember what to do if things go too far, right?"

"Yes," she replied, patting her skirt pocket.

"Good," he sighed, and then after a few more steps, "There's still time. You can back out if you want. We can figure out another way. Something less dangerous."

She shook her head. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."

"Okay. Let's do it."

The couple ahead of them disappeared into the club, and they found themselves at the head of the line. A broad-shouldered man in a blazer and a button-down shirt with a flaring collar waited for them by the entrance.

"You're back, sir?" the bouncer asked.

Squeezing her tightly, Tora pulled Kagome close and laughed. "Yeah, you know, this place isn't half bad, so I found a date who was looking for a little fun."

He nodded, his gaze wandering down to her short skirt and the legs it revealed.

With yen folded into his palm, Tora reached towards him, "The cover."

The bouncer didn't move.

"Is there a problem?"

"How old is she?"

"Uh…" Tora stuttered and looked down at her, stroking his hair. "Twenty, right, babe?"

She froze. It had all seemed simple and straightforward in theory, but now she had to do it. Be not just feminine, but attractive and exploitable. A lamb who had wandered too far from the flock. He could tell her to act natural, yet none of it was for her. She was more inclined to be brash than demure. Amaya's social media pictures flashed through her mind. Whether she was ready or not, it was the moment of truth.

Smiling coyly, she rested her cheek against his arm and giggled. "Twenty for sure."

The bouncer frowned at her, and then looked at him. "Add another five thousand."

Tora growled.

"Come on. You said this place was fun," she implored, playfully prodding his side.

"All right. All right." He fished out his wallet from his back pocket and took out another five-thousand yen note. Adding it to the wad, he handed it to him.

The bouncer thumbed through the bills. Satisfied, he nodded towards the entrance as he slipped the money into his pocket.

His hand falling to her waist, Tora guided her towards the double doors, and they headed inside.

House music thumped through hidden speakers, its fast-paced rhythm resonating through her chest. The walls featured folding fans, swords, and images of geishas, creating a clichéd Japanese aesthetic. Yet there was an unexpected deep forest theme that threaded through all of it, elevating the décor to something chic.

Once they made their way through the entryway, the space opened up into a large hall. At the center, multi-colored lasers and lights spun and flashed across a dance floor in rhythm to the music, revealing bouncing bodies bumping to the beat. At its rear, a stoic deejay played remixes in his booth. Tables flanked the floor, and beyond them, booths with plush seating lined the walls. Lit in green, a modern bar served drinks, its bartenders mixing cocktails with flourish for delighted guests.

"You're doing good," Tora whispered, leaning into her ear.

She nodded.

He gave a subtle nod towards a man in a black suit with a green button-down shirt. "Those are the yakuza guards. They're all armed with guns."

She nodded again.

"And remember the plan."

"We're going to find Amaya."

He nodded, and then he let her go. Knifing his way past patrons and hustling waitresses in skimpy kimonos, he headed to the bar.

Alone in the most figurative sense, she watched him go. Then her gaze broadened to the club in its entirety. Marked by signs in glowing red, she discovered two exits in addition to the entrance. She sighed, tempted. But with the slightest consideration, the thought of escape melted away. Too many people were relying on her, and that itself was a familiar feeling in exotic circumstances. Being depended upon anchored her and reinforced her resolve.

Before she realized it, she was heading to the dance floor. The colorful lighting effects swirled around her and the music thrummed. Starting with her feet and moving upwards, she began to dance, letting the fast beat guide her body. Soon, she was completely immersed, absorbed into the hypnotic flow of the crowd.

She wasn't a particularly good dancer, as school events and nights out with her friends had repeatedly demonstrated, but Tora was right. She didn't have to be convincing. Other dancers began to move in closer to her. They were all men, their facial features western. Maybe European or North American. One reached for her waist and she slipped away with an impish smile. Another tried to grind, but she eluded him as well. Keep them interested but far from satisfied was her game and she wasn't doing too bad.

"Let me buy you a drink," one shouted, trying to be heard above the music. His clothes and accessories too drab and ordinary, she gave him an enigmatic look and sidestepped away.

Other offers came and she continued to hold out, toying with them. Then a man in a designer suit asked her and she let herself be caught. He lent her his elbow to guide her to his booth where a few other men waited. Together, they sat down, and he wrapped his arm around her, staking his claim to his friends.

They inundated her with questions, first about Japan and then about her school uniform, betraying their hopes by doubting its authenticity. She could only pick up half of what they said, their accents thick and her English spotty. However, it didn't seem to matter as she was pulled in closer, the alcohol on their breath like a miasma in the air. Her smile became less sure and a blush heated her cheeks. Though any discomfort she showed, they missed, too absorbed by their own libidos to notice.

A round of drinks arrived, and she pretended to sip her cocktail. But with the next round and another drink waiting, they took notice and greedily pressured her to finish them faster. With a carefree giggle and a hand on her skirt pocket, she excused herself to the bathroom. Once free, she headed to the dance floor again, passing by a disinterested Tora, his back against the bar as he nursed a beer.

The pattern repeated. Dancing and playing until she let herself be lured to a booth or a private room, and then after a round of drinks, she escaped back to the floor. As the night wore on, the club thinned, and those who remained were more than a few drinks off balance. With their desires no longer veiled in propriety, their flirting became cruder, and she was soon dodging both lewd advances and shameless attempts to grope her. Her patience was gone.

When she felt a tap on her shoulder, she readied herself to slap someone. But as she spun around, she discovered a man in a black suit with a green shirt, and her hand dropped to her side.

"Miss?" he asked.

A sweet smile played across her lips and she nodded in reply. A small, selfish part of her hoped she was about to be ejected from the club.

"Would you come with me? The manager would like to meet you."

"Oh," she said, her surprise half-genuine.

He offered his arm and she took it. As he led her through the club, she furtively searched for Tora by the bar, but he was nowhere to be found. When they came to a door marked for employees, the man took her inside, and they walked down a hallway to a secure door with a keypad. He typed in the code, unlocking it before opening it wide for her.

Tastefully furnished, an office was revealed, jarring as it contrasted with the superficially Japanese theme that otherwise defined the club. Waiting inside, an older man in a tailored suit leaned against a mahogany desk, a glass of brown liquor in his hand.

"Welcome, my dear," he said as he gave the man beside her a nod. Her escort retreated from the office, closing the door behind him. The older man gestured to the studded leather couch along the wall. "Come sit down."

Swallowing, she steeled her nerve and took a seat. Somewhere beyond the walls, the muted tempo of the club music thumped.

Tipping the glass to his lips, he finished his drink. "My name is Kawano. And you are?"

"Sango," she replied with a shy smile.

"Sango? What an interesting name."

"It's old-fashioned. It's been passed down through my family for generations."

"I see," he mused, and he walked to a cabinet along the opposing wall. Elegant decanters of liquor were set upon its marble top, and he began to prepare a pair of drinks. "I've never seen you here before, Sango-san."

She stuttered, her cheeks flushing pink. "This is my first time."

"I hope you're having a good time."

"I am. I haven't been to many nightclubs before."

Picking up the drinks, he turned around and gave her a knowing look, "I don't think you've been to any nightclubs before, my dear."

The color drained from her cheeks.

He smiled, confident. "How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"Uh-uh," he disputed with shake of his head. Sitting down beside her, he set the drinks onto a coffee table. "How old are you really?"

She looked away, embarrassed.

He waited.

"Sixteen."

His smile spread into a grin, and he consoled her, "Don't worry. I won't kick you out. I admire your adventurousness. Your yearning to embrace adulthood. It's refreshing."

"Really?"

"Of course. And speaking of refreshments…" He slid her glass towards her. "Let's drink to your budding maturity."

Biting her lip, she picked up the glass, the liquor sloshing within it. When she looked back at him, he held his glass up. She mirrored him, and they clinked them together. As he took his sip, he watched her. With an uneasy smile, she put hers to her lips and pretended to swallow.

His grin never diminishing, he shook his head. "Drink it for real, Sango-san."

She hesitated.

"Go on."

Her heart racing in her throat, she parted her lips and let the liquid pour in. Smooth at first, it started to burn as it swished around her mouth, the vapors stinging her sinuses. A wet wave of nausea shot up from her gut, and she spewed the drink all over the table and down the front of her clothes.

"I'm sorry," she managed between sputtering coughs, not missing the distaste that flashed over his face. "That was so much stronger than I expected."

"Don't worry about it. I wanted you to relax. Be more comfortable." He pulled out the handkerchief in his breast pocket and dabbed her lip clean.

She took his hand and smiled. "It's not that I'm uncomfortable. I'm just nervous. This isn't what I had in mind when it comes to exploring new things. It's sort of exposed. Is there some place else we can go?"

He hummed thoughtfully. "I know of a place. But we'll be gone for a while. Your family might worry about you in the morning."

"I wouldn't think about them. They don't think about me."

Something sinister ignited in his eyes and he licked his lips.

"Could you tell me a little bit about it though? It's exciting, you know what I mean?"

Taking her by the shoulders, he pulled her close. "That information comes with a price. One I'm sure you'll gladly pay." He touched her nose and let his finger slide down to her lips and linger.

She swallowed.

He leaned in, capturing her mouth with his own. With fists clenched, her body stiffened, and she fought back the impulse to wrench away from him. He moved her lips with his own and tasted the inside of her mouth. It was everything she could do to keep from biting his tongue. When he was finished, he pulled away to hold her jaw, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

He sighed deeply, pleased. "It's an old, historic hotel in the San'ya District."

She looked at him skeptically. "Isn't that near Namidabashi?"

"This part of the neighborhood is safe these days. A police box on the corner and guards out front. Even a little bakery across the street should you desire some breakfast in the morning."

Her expression brightened, and she smirked devilishly. "Sounds perfect."

He blinked.

Gently but firmly, she removed his arm from her shoulders. "I need to use the bathroom, Kawano-san. To get ready. I'll be right back."

Standing up, she took some joy in looking down at him and the confusion she found there. But as she headed towards the exit, her feet stumbled. A fog encroached on the edges of her mind, slowing her thoughts and reflexes. Something had been in that glass. She hadn't gotten much of it, but it was enough.

Pulsing through the walls, the music tempo sped up.

"Oh, my dear. Are you all right?" he said, his concern underscored by something dark and predatory. "You seem to have had too much to drink."

Expletives poured out from under her breath and she reached for her pocket.

The music raced, climbing to a feverish pitch.

He rose behind her. "Let me help you sit down."

She pulled out a thin metal tube.

The music vibrated into a single, intense note.

His hand touched her shoulder. "I've got you."

Putting it to her lips, she blew into it twice.

And the base dropped.

OOOOOOOOOO

His attention divided between the dance floor and the employee door, Tora leaned against the wall beside a red switch, worry creasing his brow. He checked the time on his smartwatch. Kagome had disappeared into the manager's office ten minutes ago and still no cue. He felt for his pocket. Time was up. They'd find another way.

A sinuous wave of motion, the dancers flowed across the dance floor, enthralled by the accelerating pulse and yearning for the rapture of release.

And when the music reached its climax, the base dropped.

And the ceiling exploded in a hail of plaster, shuddering the building. Shrieking in surprise, they scrambled away. At the center, laser light refracted off the clouds of dust, and as it cleared, a figure in white was revealed. Glowing hot, eyes glared from behind a frightening canine mask.

"It's the demon!" a guard shouted.

"Here we go," Tora whispered to himself, and he pulled the switch.

Loud and shrill, the fire alarm sounded, adding fuel to the chaos as the stunned crowd scattered in panic.

The lights spun around Sesshoumaru, dyeing him in a brilliant array of colors. In black, the yakuza guards stalked forward, surrounding him. Then he was gone. The tails of his coat and tunic whipping around him, he flew at the closest guard. Grabbing him by the collar and belt, he tossed the man into a line of his comrades. The sharp pop of gunshots followed, but he had already sprung away. Alighting on the wall for the briefest of moments, he launched off into a downward kick, striking another in the chest.

Upbeat music blasted from the speakers. Beyond the violence, the grinning deejay freestyled from his booth, working the alarm into his fight remix with unrestrained glee.

An older man burst from the employee door.

"Okashira!" one of the guards called out to him.

"What the hell is going on?" he yelled, both angry and shocked by the disorder.

"It's the demon."

"What?"

"Over there," he said, pointing at a white blur. Guns barked and a table flew across the room. "We have to get you out of here."

"Damn it," he growled and glanced back towards his office.

"Now, sir."

"Fine." Together, they slipped into the escaping crowd and headed for the rear exit.

Seeing his opportunity, Tora made his way for the employee door. But before he could arrive to rescue Kagome, she stumbled out.

He shouted her name as he ran up. "Are you okay?"

"I'm all right," she said, rubbing her forehead. "He dosed me with something but not enough to mess me up too bad."

"Let me help you," he offered, putting his arm around her waist.

She jerked away, nearly falling.

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right. I'm just a little over people touching me tonight. Like really over it."

The color drained from his face. "That guy didn't do anything to you, did he?"

"Not anything dental care and mouthwash won't cure." She cast about. "Where's Sesshoumaru?"

He nodded towards the dance floor. "He takes being the distraction to new levels."

A rally of gunshots popped, and the daiyoukai staggered back.

"He's going to get himself killed." Her hand slipped into her pocket and pulled out the whistle. She gave it three short puffs.

Sesshoumaru sprang to the side as another hail of bullets shredded the dance floor and he grabbed another table. Tossing it at a set of guards, he followed it with a volley of metal chairs.

She blew the signal into the whistle again, and he continued to fight, ignoring her.

"We need to get him," she said, pushing her way through the people and destruction to get to the dance floor. A hand snaked out to grab her wrist. It was Tora.

"We can't help him," he assured, pulling her towards the closest exit. "For one, we're not bulletproof. And two, we need to get out of here. See reason number one for why."

"But he's going to get himself killed!"

"And us with him. Let's go!"

"You said a direct assault would be suicide."

He looked at her, his face sober. "It is."

The revelation mixed with the drugs that doped her mind and she stopped struggling against him. Her wrist still in his hand, he led her through the exit. She put the whistle to her lips again and repeated the three-note signal. Over and over, she called as they fled into the alleyway, through the crowd, and across the street into the parking structure. It was the sign for success. For victory. The sign that it was time to come home.


	22. Hidden Trauma

Chapter Twenty-Two: Hidden Trauma

Exploiting the vantage of the night, Tora peered down at the old hotel's courtyard from the bakery's roof on the other side of the street.

"Something seems off," he called back. Sporting his two-toned jacket and skull cap, his face mask was pulled down to just below his chin. He crossed his arms against his chest, frowning. "I count six guards and like five sedans parked out front."

"Is that a lot?" Kagome asked, hidden in the shadow of the roof access.

"It draws attention, which is typically what they don't want for a place like this." He hummed thoughtfully. "Could be that this is where they retreated after our adventure at the nightclub."

"If that's the case, then there will be more guards inside than usual as well, including that bastard boss of theirs."

He nodded.

The double doors of the entrance swung open and a group of men exited the hotel. Western in facial features, they poured out, their clothes disheveled. Flanking them on either side were more men, these ones in suits. They directed the group toward the train station a block away.

"They're kicking the customers out," he said, revulsion souring his voice. "Simplifies matters, but I would have enjoyed blowing out a few of their kneecaps."

"Same here," she agreed as she approached him at the edge of the roof.

He turned around, surprised.

Sporting black boots and matching leggings, she had kept her green skirt but now wore a white hoodie in place of her sailor top. The hood was drawn up over her head. Over the top of her hoodie was a white Kevlar vest with a stylized sun stenciled onto the back. At her hip, a quiver of arrows hung, and across her back, a compound bow was slung. And like him, her face mask sat wrinkled below her chin.

Before he could comment, she held a thick vest out to him.

"It's only fair that if we get protection that you get some too," she said with a soft smile. "We're all in this together."

Reverently, he accepted it, "Thank you."

"Since he paid for it, Sesshoumaru was supposed to give it to you, but…" she trailed off.

Already securing the vest over his jacket and adjusting the straps, Tora reassured her. "He's pretty good at tracking, so he'll be here. He's tough too. And most importantly, he's stubborn."

She nodded, knowing that too well. It was a family trait.

"Still," he added, "I'm not sure what the next step should be. This hotel is ten stories with an unknown number of enemies inside. We don't even know where the girls are being held let alone if Amaya is even here. Obviously, we're going to rescue them no matter what, but I've never done anything like this before."

"I thought you were a street hero."

"Yeah, the emphasis on street. Roughing up some low-level baseball bat losers is not the same as sieging this place. This is outside of my experience."

"Should we call the police?"

"We could," he replied thoughtfully, "Hell, we could go to the police box on the corner and report suspicious activity, but our concerns aren't going to outweigh the yakuza's legitimacy in this neighborhood."

"Like the police are corrupt?"

"Not necessarily," he sighed. "More like an anonymous report versus business owner. Unless someone is getting assaulted right in front of them, the police aren't going to look too closely. It's like a bandaged wound. If it seems all right on the outside, you might not realize that it's festering underneath even if someone tells you it smells off."

The bottom of her fist struck her palm as an idea popped into her mind. "What about the fire alarm again? Like at the nightclub?"

Raising an eyebrow, he considered it. Then he shook his head. "Same problem as with the police. If they have a fire system that's connected to the local fire station, they can just say it's a false alarm. It only worked at the nightclub because the patrons were free to flee if they chose to. These girls can't choose to evacuate."

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know."

"We will siege it directly," a cool voice commanded from behind them.

They both spun around, startled.

Catching the oblique light from the streetlamps below, Sesshoumaru emerged from the shadows.

"%$#@ me!" Tora blurted out, his hand grabbing at his chest.

"You've been shot!" Kagome exclaimed, her eyes fixed on two dark stains: one at his flank below the vest and the other at his right thigh. When she approached him, her attention flowed from the stains to his shredded coattails, and then finally to his pockmarked chest where his vest had absorbed the damage. She reached to touch his injuries.

"Do not concern yourself," he said dismissively when she fumbled in her pocket for a penlight. "One bullet passed through and I dug the other out. My youki is healing both wounds as we speak."

"Don't concern myself?" she repeated, astonished. "You were supposed to create a diversion. Not fight twenty armed guards to a standstill. We're a team. We agreed upon signals and you ignored them. I can't believe you were lecturing me on impulsivity right before we made our plan for the nightclub."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're reckless. As can be seen, your armor doesn't protect your whole body. What if they had shot you in the head and your thick skull didn't hold up? There are plenty of arteries and veins that aren't protected by bone or the vest. What if you had been hit there? Your youki isn't what it once was. You could have bled out. This doesn't even include a scenario where a bullet gets lodged in one of your internal organs and we can't get it out."

He waited, his expression inscrutable from behind the mask.

She threw up her arms. "I don't understand. You're family. We care about you and your safety. This is excluding the fact that from what you're willing to admit, you're the last youkai. There are so many reasons for you to be safer. To minimize risks. To rely on others." She sighed. "I just don't get it."

Silence passed.

"Sesshoumaru?" Tora interrupted, breaking the tension. A few steps further away from the two of them than a moment ago, he gazed down at the hotel entrance, the prospect of risking death suddenly appealing.

The daiyoukai looked at him.

"Do you have any ideas on how we can support you in a direct siege?"

Sesshoumaru swept past Kagome to study the hotel.

"In terms of scale," Tora explained, "There are a lot of unknowns and no effective ways to do reconnaissance, at least not on our timetable. We don't know how many enemies there are or where they're keeping the girls. And we don't know the floor plan. It goes without saying that you're going to do most of the fighting, so what can we do to give you an advantage that won't also get us killed?"

Together, they appraised what they could see. The armed guards stationed at the entrance and the occasional silhouette as it passed by the hotel's curtained windows.

"Power," Sesshoumaru said finally.

"Power?" Tora asked.

"Kill the power. My night vision is far superior than that of humans. It was the key to my success at the gambling den."

"Okay."

"And it will eliminate the elevator as an access point."

"But not the stairwell," Tora added, frowning. "How about we kill the power and ambush any of them that try to move between the floors. Keep you from being flanked as best we can or send you a signal to let you know where they're moving.

He nodded. "That will be satisfactory."

They both turned to the side to look back at Kagome. With her arms crossed against her chest, frustration hardened her features.

They waited.

"Whatever we need to do," she agreed at last, her expression unchanged. "We're rescuing these girls and hopefully Amaya too."

"All right. Let's do it," Tora said.

OOOOOOOOOO

Loitering around the hotel courtyard, the yakuza guards patrolled. Nervous energy pervaded the air around them, and many of them paced with their guns drawn and their fingers hovering dangerously over the triggers. With their backs against a neighboring wall, Tora and Kagome hid just beyond the closest guard's line of sight and waited.

Then one of the sedans parked on the street disappeared.

A loud boom echoed, rattling building windows. The guards shouted, sprinting from their positions outside the entrance and down to the far side of the hotel.

Tora and Kagome edged out to survey the situation. At the second story, the back end of a car protruded from the hotel, rubble and dust spilling out from the wound it had created.

"That's our cue," he whispered, chuckling softly with admiration. "If the man is consistent at anything, it's knowing how to be the diversion." He pulled the staff from the pouch at his thigh and extended it to half its full length. "Let's go, Kagome-san."

Together, they ran from around the corner of the wall, heading for the hotel entrance. Keeping to the shadows as best they could, they skirted the lamplight as they crossed the courtyard and climbed the stairs to the entrance. Through the glass doors, they scanned the lobby. Spying no one, they burst in, weapons in hand.

She pointed to a sign featuring a set of steps in profile on a maintenance door.

He nodded.

They covered the wall on either side of the door. Using his fingers, he counted down from three, and then they exploded through the door and into the stairwell. With Kagome aiming high at the flight leading to the next level and Tora ready for what was in front of them and below, they checked for enemies. It was clear.

Taking point, he headed down the stairs towards the basement and she covered his back, her eyes and ears sharp for any movement. In the distance and muffled by countless walls, she could hear the commotion of men shouting, and occasionally, their higher-pitched cries of agony.

They reached the basement. With a dead end to the left, a fluorescent lit hallway lay before them on the right. Maintaining their formation from the stairwell, they moved down it until they came across a heavy metal door marked by a high voltage warning and lightning bolt symbol.

"I think this is it," she said quietly.

He nodded in agreement and tried the doorknob. It was open.

"For a place that values security, I'm surprised that this isn't locked."

He shrugged. "I'm sure workplace safety is not high on their list of concerns."

He pushed the door open and then braced his back against it to keep it from closing again. She slipped past him into the room. Inside, she found a series of large gray boxes hanging on a cinder block wall. Conduit cables coursed from the top of each box and into the ceiling.

"The circuit breakers are housed in these boxes," she explained, more as an affirmation to herself than anything else, "So, if we flip them to the off position, we should kill the power. At least that's according to Bikini Girl."

He looked at her quizzically, shook his head, and leaned back out to check for interlopers.

Opening the first box, she discovered a panel lined with two columns of black switches. At the top, there was a large red switch. The main circuit breaker. She flipped it to the off position.

The lights in the basement died.

"Guess that means success," she whispered. Feeling for her pocket, she pulled out her penlight and turned it on. Using the light, she located the next circuit breaker panel and turned off the main switch. Soon, she had killed every panel. Her light beam tracked to Tora.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yes."

He nodded. "I don't think there's anyone down here or else they would have come running by now."

She handed him her light. "I'm sure all of the shouting, gunfire, and explosions were irresistible."

"For sure."

Using the penlight as a guide, they headed back out into the hallway and toward the stairwell.

"I just don't get it," she said, frustration tight in her voice.

"Get what?"

"Sesshoumaru."

He blew out a breath and then stifled a nervous chuckle.

"It's not funny," she scolded.

"Look, I'm not trying to laugh. It's just an awkward subject, and if I could run away from the both of you right now, I would."

She scoffed.

"I'm an outside observer to all of this. I respect both of you, but I don't know either of you. So, I'm not sure if you really want my opinion."

"Doesn't that make it easier for you to see something that I'm missing? Because I don't understand why he does what he does. And he explains nothing. Most of the time he just waits for me to give up and I won't live as long as he will, so I do."

"You want the truth?"

"Yes."

He paused, and then with a deep sigh. "I don't think you're in the head space to get him."

"What do you mean?"

"You're operating under this understanding of who he was. I don't know any of the history, and honestly, it sounds like it could be a mind-blowing story best told when we're not in the underbelly of a yakuza hideout. But I don't think he's the same person that you knew."

"I know that he's not."

"But do you?"

The heat of her anger warmed his back.

"Please, I'm not trying to upset you," he assured. "You said he's the last one of his kind, right?"

"Right."

"Well, I don't think you become the last one of anything without some kind of trauma."

She was quiet.

"As someone who knows nothing about youkai or the man Sesshoumaru once was, all I see is someone who's hurting. Someone who's self-destructive. Someone who when he says that not everyone can be saved, isn't always talking about other people. Get what I'm saying?"

"But we're here for him," she murmured, her vision starting to blur. "He has family now."

"And that's beyond important, trust me," he reassured. "He wouldn't stand a chance otherwise. And he has a purpose on top of that. Being a guardian to the impoverished people of this city. But until he's ready to personally deal with the trauma that's shackling his heart and mind, all you or your family can do is be there for him."

They reached the door to the stairwell.

"I'm sorry if I upset you," he apologized. "Personal trauma is something I've seen a lot of in my work. It's so hard, for the victim and for those who care about them."

"Thank you for being honest with me," she replied, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand.

A flurry of muted pops sounded somewhere far away and were swiftly followed by a series of booms that shook the building.

"Ready to join the party and hopefully not be terribly injured or killed?" he asked with another nervous chuckle.

"Ready."

And they opened the door.


	23. Survive

Chapter Twenty-Three: Survive

As Tora and Kagome swept through the door into the stairwell, the beam of the penlight tracked across the chest of a man in a dark suit. Matte black, his gun came to bear on them.

Dropping the light, Tora brought his staff up and across, striking the man hard at the wrists. A spark flashed at the tip of the gun, and the deafening pop of gunfire echoed in the stairwell. Moving with the force of his swing, he slipped to the man's side and punched him low on his flank. He felt him give under the blow and finished him off by slamming his head into the wall.

"Get back!" he shouted to Kagome.

Her ears ringing, he sounded distant, as if there was a wall between them. His hand reached out and grabbed her by the vest, and he shoved her back through the doorway as he fled into the basement hallway.

Another series of pops shattered the air. And in the beam of the penlight, chips of concrete flew.

"Shit," Tora muttered, leaning just inside the doorway.

Safely in the hallway, she peered past him as far as she could. Like the basement, the stairwell was pitch black except for the penlight and the diffuse glow of a light source somewhere above them on the stairs.

"We need to get out of here," she said, the ringing in her ears slowly subsiding.

He nodded. "And before they get something better than a cellphone flashlight."

Her gaze fell to the penlight.

"Bad idea," he said, shaking his head. "That's the only thing they can see to shoot. To use that to get out of here is like wearing a bullseye. Hell, crossing the light beam would probably get us killed."

"In that case, if they're using a cellphone flashlight, that also makes them easy to track too, right?"

"Well, I'm not going to run at a bunch of armed yakuza assholes just because I can see their flashlights. Darkness is no one's friend here except for Sesshoumaru's."

His flippant reply hung before her and she started to twist and turn it in her mind, sensing a plan.

"What if we could do the opposite?" she asked, talking her way through the idea as it formed. "What if we blind them not with darkness but with light?"

He scoffed. "With what light? Are you packing a flash bang grenade somewhere?"

"Hold on," she said, taking an arrow from her quiver, "It's been a while." Nocking it to her bow, she took a deep breath and reached deep into her core. Feeling almost like euphoria, a flicker of power ignited and slowly swirled inside of her. Like electricity it coursed up her spine, prickling her skin. Then it streamed down her arms and into her hands. Bright like a firecracker, the arrowhead burst with pink light, dribbling sparks at its tip.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide as he tried to lean away from both her and the doorway.

Her mask concealed her smirk, but she couldn't hide the smile in her voice. "I'm going to fire this into the stairwell. As long as it strikes close to them, it should give you a few seconds. Is that enough?"

He glanced back and forth between the burning arrow and the doorway. "You're not going to miss?"

She chuckled. "No, I've had plenty of practice. And in combat no less. Trust me."

The sound of footfalls inched their way down the flight of stairs above them.

"All right," he agreed, and he squared his body a few steps in from the doorway, ready to sprint.

"Close your eyes. And on my signal, open them and run. Look down and you should be fine."

"Got it."

She breathed in deep, hardening her nerves as she drew her bow. And then she darted forward into the doorway. Sighting the point of light that marked the cellphone, she aimed in front of it. She heard their gasps, the bewilderment of her appearance. The fraction of a moment where surprise gave her an edge.

And with a soft whip, the arrow flew. Brilliance instantly enveloped it, turning it into a scorching beam of light, its afterglow chasing it like a comet's tail. It struck the wall beside the approaching men and exploded. They stumbled back, tripping on the steps and each other, the blinding flare burning their retinas.

"Go!" she shouted.

Squinting, Tora bolted forward, racing up the stairs. Above him, the light flickered, dying slowly. Then he was upon the two men as they helplessly fumbled and felt for their eyes. Sweeping his staff, he struck them both across the jaw and followed it with a kick to the head for good measure.

The arrow winked out.

Swallowed by darkness again, the stairwell was a void, lit only by the errant penlight. Even the glow from the cellphone was gone. Somewhere, Kagome could hear the rapid pace of Tora's breathing.

"Are you all right?" she asked, letting doubt worry her now that it was over.

"Yeah," he sighed and wiped the sweat from around his eyes. "That was scary."

"Is there anyone else out there?"

He held his breath, listening. Then he let out a deep sigh. "Not that I can tell."

She headed out further into the stairwell and picked up the penlight. Following the light, she trotted up the flight of stairs until she found the unconscious men and Tora standing among them.

"What now?"

Somewhere among the limp bodies, the refrain of a lively pop song played.

Kagome and Tora looked at each other.

The refrain played again.

He knelt. Underneath the flap of a coat, the face of a cellphone lit with an incoming number.

They looked at each other again.

"It's for you?" she offered, shrugging.

He picked up the phone and took a deep breath. Then he pressed the speakerphone icon and answered it. "Yeah?"

"Did you find out what happened to the power?" a man asked. Gunfire popped in the background.

"Yeah."

"And?"

"Uh…" Tora searched the darkness around him. Then he settled on some semblance of the truth. "There were a couple intruders down here. We took care of them."

Silence.

He swallowed.

"And the power?" the man asked, irritation apparent in his tone. Louder through the phone, a series of booms rumbled through the building.

"We're working on that."

The man growled with a rage that slowly turned into a hopeless sigh.

"How are things there?" Tora asked.

"Complete shit. We're evacuating the boss. Keep an eye out for him and the others with him. They're heading for the stairs."

"What about the girls?"

There was a pause.

Kagome bit her lip under her mask and waited.

"They're on the tenth floor. If this monster gets that far, then he can have them."

"Understood."

"Make sure the boss gets out. He's the only one that matters."

"Don't worry," Tora assured. "We're on it."

Pressing the red icon, he hung up and tossed the phone over the rail. It tumbled into the black and struck the flight below them with a painful clatter. He looked to Kagome, and they both nodded wordlessly.

Then both providence and misfortune burst forward as the second story door above them flew open. A flashlight beam caught them as she shined her penlight up. There were three men: two guards and their boss, Kawano. The stillness of mutual surprise lasted only an instant before their guns tracked down. A hail of gunfire erupted.

Tora grunted.

Grabbing him by the arm, she fled down the stairs, dragging him behind her. Reaching the basement entrance, she shoved him into the hallway and clicked off the penlight.

"Are you hurt?" she whispered as she leaned out to trace the enemy flashlight beam back to its source. They were still on the second floor.

"I think the vest caught it," he replied, wheezing, "But damn, it hurts."

"We're back where we started," she muttered.

"They're not going to come down here. Their job is to get their boss out, not risk his life. If we wait, they'll escape."

"We can't let that happen."

"I've just been shot in the chest and it's two flights of stairs."

"That bastard's not getting away," she growled. "Get ready."

"Shit," he said and slapped his cheeks, "All right." With his staff in hand, he assumed a running stance and closed his eyes.

Like an old habit, spiritual power flowed through her easier as she drew on it a second time. The tip of the arrow ignited. Then she stepped out into the stairwell and aimed above the men obliquely lit by their own flashlight. The arrow flew. A rod of solid light, it collided against the wall and exploded. Crying out in shock and pain, they fell back.

"Go!" she yelled.

Tora sprang forward and bolted up the stairs. Still wheezing, he climbed the first flight and headed for the second. What remained of the arrow started to flicker and the men found their footing. His pace growing sluggish, he scaled the last flight and jabbed his staff into the gut of the first guard. The guard bowled forward and Tora brought his fist up, punching him in the face. Sensing Tora, the second guard threw himself at him and they grappled. Behind them, Kawano squinted and brought his gun up, aiming for Tora's head.

Another arrow flew.

Kawano yelped and his gun clattered to the floor. Through his forearm, the arrow protruded. Then he collapsed to one knee and discovered yet another one piercing his outer thigh.

The purification arrow winked out, and except for the dropped flashlight, darkness filled the stairwell again.

Scuffling and grunting continued above Kagome. Someone slammed into a wall. It was followed by the wet sound of punches to the face. Then there were only heaving wheezes punctuated by muttered expletives.

"Tora?" she called out hopefully.

"Yeah?" he answered between pained gasps.

"Are you all right?"

"Relatively speaking, I think so."

Clicking on her penlight, she headed up the stairs, wading past unconscious bodies until she found him sitting on a step, crumpled against the wall. Worried, she shined the light on his face and noticed swelling around his eyes and jaw as he winced away.

"You have a thing for bright lights," he complained.

"Sorry," she apologized.

A man groaned behind him.

Her light tracking to the source, she discovered Kawano fumbling weakly at the arrow in his thigh. Slipping past Tora, she approached the yakuza boss, relishing his pain and disorientation. It was fitting for all the young women he had drugged and kidnapped. It wasn't enough. Only a taste of what he truly deserved, but it was the best that she could do right now.

"You know, I've spent a lot of time learning about human anatomy and physiology over the last couple of years," she said coolly and knelt beside him. "In part because the healing arts are essential to my profession. But just as importantly, it's good to know where to shoot someone so that you won't necessarily kill them." Taking the shaft of the arrow in his thigh, she drove it in a little deeper, and he wailed in agony. "Don't take either of these arrows out unless you can't live with the shame of your crimes, you piece of shit."

The building rumbled again.

Kagome looked up into the dark stairwell and the tenth floor that waited for her somewhere deep in it.

"I'm heading up," she told Tora, "Are you coming?"

"I need to rest for a bit or else I'm just going to get myself killed," he replied, still wheezing. "I'll tie these guys up and follow shortly."

"Got it."

Turning towards her, he reached out and grasped her gently by the wrist. "Don't do anything stupid."

She smiled. "Relatively speaking, right?"

He chuckled, which turned immediately into a groan of pain, and he let her go to feel at his chest.

Standing up, she gave him a nod. And then she started the long climb ahead.

OOOOOOOOOO

The rhythmic cry of sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder as flashing red lights closed in. Perched out on the sill of a shattered window high up on the hotel, Sesshoumaru watched the impending approach of the police as they sped down the grid of streets, heading for the chaos he had created. Behind him, a few men groaned but most were in the silent throes of unconsciousness. Their weapons broken, he had little regard for them even if they could move, and so he crouched with his back to them. The evening breeze caught his hair, ruffling it and the shredded tails of his tunic and coat.

Then he leapt up. Twisting in the air, he spun to face the building and grabbed the eave hanging over the next story up. Placing his boots on the window, he pushed off just enough to give him the momentum to shatter it. As he went through it, he landed silently except for the tinkling of glass.

He looked around. The room was small with a bed and little else, a layout that was excessively familiar at this point. With a light sniff, he scented the air. There were fewer enemies with every floor he cleared. Still, the mass of humanity that frequented this place muddied it with their stench. Listening, he could distinguish a half dozen racing heartbeats. They knew he was here.

Focusing on one group of heartbeats, he launched through the wall into the adjacent room and continued punching through, leaving chunks of drywall and splintered studs in his wake. Exploding through the final wall, he burst in on three men. Darting to the side, he dodged the barrage of gunfire that filled the hole that he had made. Grabbing the mattress off the bed, he flung it at the men. Thrown back by the force, they collapsed into each other. Pulling the crowbar free from his sash, Sesshoumaru hooked it around the neck of the first man and sent him flying into a wall. The next man's face met his fist, and the last one lay senseless under the weight of the mattress.

As he crushed their weapons, his gaze drifted to the hole in the wall and the bullets that had perforated everything around it. His tactics hadn't aged well, turning a once clever maneuver into a liability. And as hard as he tried, he couldn't bring himself to care. Even the power outage had diminishing returns as the enemy opened curtains, letting in enough city light to see by. Still, he felt nothing.

'Risk,' he thought, reflecting on Kagome's accusation, 'It didn't matter to him.' How long had he felt that way? The risk assumed by others drove him to action. But the risk to himself? To his life? The spider-shaped scar on his chest itched.

Shoving the thought away, he slipped past the incapacitated men and opened the door to the hallway. Listening carefully, he tracked two heartbeats down to the far side of the hotel. They were in a corner room, waiting for him. And he caught himself as he considered blowing through the walls to get to them. Instead, he padded noiselessly down the hallway. The open room door betrayed their confidence, and inside, he spied them facing the wall, their guns ready for his strike. They had scarcely the time to imagine the irony when a white blur flew into their room and threw them through the wall they were watching.

"Bikini Girl would truly be disappointed in the quality of construction here," he commented dryly as he regarded the men now hanging motionless from the fresh holes.

He left the room and headed down the hallway. Then somewhere below him from the other end of the building, a whistle sang. He counted ten notes. The absence of a distress call meant that his allies were well enough to not require his aid. Instead, they had discovered the location of the humans in need of rescue. Whether that included the girl was unclear.

A heartbeat filtered through his thoughts. Had there been six men?

Two pops echoed down the hallway.

His leg giving out from underneath him, Sesshoumaru collapsed onto one knee. Blood poured from the back of his left thigh, and he felt more flowing from his right shoulder.

"I got you, you bastard," a man snarled. "I'm the last one standing."

"Careless," Sesshoumaru said.

"Who? Me?"

"Both of us."

In a flash, Sesshoumaru twisted to the side and threw his crowbar, striking the man in the hands before it bounced up into his face. The gun fired once more as he fell back, the wild shot hitting the daiyoukai in the side of his head. Sesshoumaru dropped to the floor, blood streaming down his cheek and throat to pool on the carpet.

Time passed.

oooooooooo

_"Do you hear me? Youkai are dying," Inuyasha growled, his gold eyes glowing with an impossible brightness, especially under the summertime sun._

_"It's not my concern."_

_"Then what does it mean to be a youkai lord, huh? Aren't lords supposed to protect? Aren't they supposed to be guardians?"_

_"You bore me."_

_He scoffed and shook his head. "I don't know why I'm surprised. I thought maybe with everything that happened with Naraku that you had changed. That maybe you cared now. But you don't. Not unless it's personal."_

_Silence._

_"Fine," Inuyasha spat angrily, and he undid the ties of his coat, opening it wide to reveal his chest. Across his tanned skin lay a scar shaped like a spider. "I don't know which half of me you care about, if any, but if I've got it despite our father's blood, it's gonna get you too. I hope that's personal enough for you."_

ooooooooooo

Throbbing pain pulsed through Sesshoumaru's brain, wrenching him away from the peaceful numbness of unconsciousness. He woke with a start, but as he sat up, a sickening wave of nausea struck. He vomited the bile of an empty stomach inside his mask. Pushing it up and out of the way, he spat out the rest onto the floor. His fingers trembling, he felt through his headdress for his scalp underneath. As he did, a squashed piece of metal tumbled down onto the carpet. Where it had been, he discovered a neat hole that went straight through to the bone but no further. His youki began to swirl in it, healing the wound.

"I suppose my skull is indeed thick enough," he sighed.

He slid over to sit against the wall, and he hissed as he stretched out his left leg. Gritting his teeth in anticipation, he felt for the hole in his pantleg, and through it, the wound in the back of his thigh. Using his thumb and forefinger, he dug into it, stretching it as he went deep into the muscle. A snarl erupted from his throat as the pain in his head and leg rose to new levels of excruciating, and his vision fogged at the edges. Then he felt it. The lump of metal. Grasping it with his fingernails, he dragged it out. After tossing it onto the floor, his fingers brushed over the wound again. Tendrils of youki stirred, and he sighed with relief.

Next he reached for his right shoulder and growled in dissatisfaction. The angle at which the bullet had become lodged under his shoulder blade made it impossible for him to remove. Still, it hadn't gone as deep as the one in his thigh. Aside from some weakness in his arm and a limited range of motion, he would survive for now.

Survive.

Bracing against the wall, he slid up its surface to stand on his feet and pulled his mask back into position. Then unsteadily, he started to walk down the hallway, dizziness swirling behind his eyes. But with each step, he felt his body coming back to him. His youki was working and the pain slowly subsided to a dull throb. He stopped beside his assailant and picked up his crowbar.

Through the window at the end of the hallway, a massive beam of light slipped past, illuminating everything in soft blue for an instant.

He approached the window. Below, he could see a galaxy of spinning red lights, and through the eroded weather stripping, he could hear the noise of humanity. The searchlight swept by again, aiming higher, nearly to the crest of the building.

Then he sensed her. The girl who smelled like the doll in his pocket. She was outside.

Knowing that, the rising commotion on the street below took on new meaning. A desperate urgency.

And when their collective gasp silenced them, he burst through the window.


	24. Despair

Chapter Twenty-Four: Despair

Her heels clacking along the pavement, Detective Jin hustled down the sidewalk. Following up a lead on a missing girl case, one that she suspected was tied to others, she had ended up at a San'ya District police box when dozens of calls came in about a nearby hotel. If she had known that she was going to do this much running so late at night, she would have brought her sneakers. Ahead, she spotted a swarm of spectators, their bodies reflecting the pulsing red lights of the police cars that kept them at a distance.

"What a mess," a voice muttered behind her. Keeping pace with her, Detective Nakagawa ran, his ridiculous trench coat flapping with every stride. "You'd think gunshots would make people stay home, not crowd around to gawk."

She scoffed, ready with a jab about mob mentality, but the insult never made it past a fleeting thought.

"Is that a %$#@ing car?!" he yelled incredulously, perfectly captioning her dropped jaw.

The hotel, which appeared relatively unscathed from the police box on the corner, was a nightmare to behold up close. Despite being pitch black inside, it was uplit by every spotlight that could be had, illuminating the shattered windows and the crumbling brick of its blown-out walls. At its second story, the back end of a sedan jutted out, its hazard lights blinking comically.

Shoving through the wall of onlookers, she had her badge in hand, held high next to her face. The line of officers enforcing the barricade flagged her and Nakagawa through. They knifed their way through the disarray of police and emergency services to the hotel's portico. There they discovered a slouching line of men seated on the curb, their suits disheveled and faces battered. Several men stumbled out of the dark hotel entrance. While one made a pathetic attempt to run away, the rest clamored forward.

"The demon," one blurted out, half-crazed. "Save us."

"Yeah, yeah," an officer soothed, his tone mellowed of any enthusiasm. "You're saved. Put your hands behind your back." Resorting to flex-cuffs after so many arrests, he zip-tied the man's hands as other officers handled the rest, and together, they escorted them to the curb to sit beside their misshapen comrades.

"The demon, huh?" Nakagawa mused.

Jin could feel his smile, and she suppressed a groan. "Stop."

"I'm just saying that it seems like less of an urban myth when you see their bloody faces."

"There are no such things as demons," she sighed. "At best, it's some vigilante in a mask capitalizing on superstitious idiots. Emphasis on idiots."

He chuckled. "All right, detective. Explain to me how that car parked on the second story was the work of some vigilante in a mask."

She frowned. "You'll have to wait for Traffic Collision's report on that."

His chuckle turned into a wholehearted laugh. "You always have an answer. I love it, but one day, you're going to come across something that can't be explained away. And in that moment, you'll tell me I was right."

She snorted. "Sure."

"You don't believe me but—" he started, his reply dying as his finger rose to point at the crest of the hotel.

"Please," she groaned. "There's no demon up there."

Then the familiar din of the crowd rose, growing louder as other fingers pointed. With her brow furrowed, Jin looked up.

High up on the top floor, there was a teenage girl on a balcony. Dressed in flowing pajamas, she stood against the railing that separated her from a thirty-five-meter drop to the portico below. At the windows on either side, several other girls leaned out, reaching fruitlessly toward her.

"I think we found the missing girls," Nakagawa thought aloud.

Jin nodded.

"She's not going to do what I think she's going to do, is she?"

They both looked at each other and their mutual realization drained the color from their cheeks.

"Shit!" she cursed, and together they rushed toward the hotel entrance. A pair of officers intercepted their sprint, catching them by their shoulders.

"Detectives!" one shouted, grabbing their attention. "We haven't entered the building yet, let alone cleared it. There's still gunfire and we're not sure of its structural integrity either. We're waiting on the special assault team."

"But—" she objected, fighting his grip.

He shook his head, pity in his expression. "I'm sorry."

"There'll be one death for sure if you don't let us go in," Nakagawa argued.

"I'm sorry."

More officers arrived, adding to the barrier between the detectives and the hotel. It wasn't a battle they were going to win, at least not in the time they had.

Jin relaxed. "Fine. Let it be on your conscience if she dies because you did nothing."

The officer sighed. "Better than if either of you died because we let you do something."

She growled in frustration and reached out to gently tug Nakagawa's sleeve. "We'll find another way."

The officers released them.

"Damn it!" he yelled, yanking off his fedora to run his hand through his messy hair. Then he jogged blindly back across the portico, his gaze fixed upwards on the distant balcony. He called out to the girl, but whatever he shouted was lost in the cacophony when she climbed over the railing.

She lingered there, sitting on the railing with her feet dangling. The night breeze whipped at her thin clothing and carried her dark hair. The searchlight swept up capturing her in pale blue light. Jin squinted, hoping to find hesitation or fear in the shadows of her face, but there was only resolve.

Then she tipped forward, letting the railing go.

The world gasped.

She seemed to fall instantly and in slow motion, as if time was something mercurial and indecisive.

Below her, a window exploded in a shower of sparkling glass as a white blur leapt through it. The figure collided with her as she passed by, seizing her as she slammed into his shoulder. He reached out with his free hand, grabbing the closest overhang. He slipped, and they bounced off it hard enough to crack the concrete. Still in freefall, he tossed the girl over his other shoulder and tried again. His seeking hand found the next overhang and he grabbed it. His grip secure, they jerked to a stop, their bodies swinging with the momentum.

"Yes!" Nakagawa cheered, and the crowd's collectively held breath turned into a roar.

Under the beam of the searchlight, the figure flexed his body, bringing his legs up to plant both feet onto the side of the building. Bending his knees, he gathered his strength and leapt up to the next overhang. But fell short.

They dropped again, and another gasp rippled through the crowd.

He caught the overhang below and his grip held. There they dangled for a moment before he attempted to jump again. And when he grabbed the next overhang up, the crowd boomed.

"I think he's been shot in both legs," Nakagawa yelled to Jin, his voice rising barely above the rioting humanity that surrounded them.

She tore her eyes away from the spectacle to glance at him. He had his cellphone raised up, filming the rescue with the zoom maxed out.

"See his legs and the blood," he continued, doing his best to keep them in focus as they jumped up to the next overhang. "Hell, there's more on his side, shoulder, and even his neck." He whistled. "What a beast."

Looking at his screen, she caught glimpses of the dark stains through his shredded coat. A strange sensation of déjà vu struck her when she poured over his silver mane and caught a glimpse of his canine mask.

Reaching the cornice that ran along the eave of the roof, the figure made his final leap, clearing it to land on solid ground. Cheers soared. Pivoting back on his heel, he looked down at the rolling masses pressed in on the street below, the girl cradled against his shoulder.

"I've seen him before," Jin muttered, staring at the snarling mask.

"What?!" Nakagawa said, leaning in close and plugging one ear.

"I've seen him," she repeated louder. "That cold case we're still working. The one about the teenage boy murdered near Namidabashi. The one we suspected was a yakuza hit job."

"Yeah."

"He was there. On a roof. Just like now."

He chuckled. "The Demon of Namidabashi. What a terrifying thought."

OOOOOOOOOO

As cool as the searchlight that shined upon him, Sesshoumaru watched the distant chaos that overwhelmed the city block beneath him. The crowd rumbled, smothering the wailing sirens and the ambient rush of the city.

His gaze rose from the street to his body as he took account of his injuries. Nearly more red than white, his clothes were in tatters both from the bullets and from crushing through walls. He opened and closed his right hand to make a fist, annoyed by the weakness that had caused him to slip. Between the embedded bullet and striking the building during his fall, his shoulder ached painfully. His other wounds were healing, but that didn't mean they were without soreness. His head concerned him the most. A disorienting wave of vertigo spun the street below, and he took a few steps back.

How long had it been since he'd weathered a battle so poorly? His father's grave came to mind, and his eyes fell to his left arm still cradling the girl. Well, it had gone better than that day.

As if on cue, the body draped against his shoulder shifted, and the girl started to stir. His catch had been a hard one for so frail a person. A mercy perhaps, given the difficulty of his rescue and the nature of her fall.

Her eyes fluttered open, unseeing at first.

He watched her, waiting for realization to strike.

Then she gasped in terror and struggled against his hold.

"You need not fear," he assured, aware that his bloody visage would hardly make him convincing. "I won't hurt you."

"I died, didn't I?" she whispered.

"No," he said, nodding towards the crowded street, "You still live. I saved you from your fall."

She winced as she sat up to look and felt at her chest.

"And the dead or those close to it don't feel pain." He could scarcely miss the disappointment that deepened the sadness in her dark eyes.

"Will you let me down?" she asked, her gaze on the street.

He sighed. "I will, but if you should attempt another jump, I will pursue you. Your life is spared if only for one night."

She scoffed, bitterness in her tone. "I'm not even allowed to choose my death."

He waited. When he proved unwilling to submit, she tried to pry herself free from his arm. It was a feeble effort even by human standards. And short-lived.

"All right," she surrendered, crossing her arms. "I won't jump."

Satisfied enough, he let her down. Barefoot, she limped a few steps away from him. 

"But if I want to end this miserable existence of mine tomorrow, you can't stop me."

"I don't intend to."

"Then why are you stopping me now? Why risk your life to save someone who doesn't want your help?"

He paused, thinking. "I was asked to find you… Amaya-san."

She froze, her eyes wide.

He waited.

"Someone asked you to find me?" She pointed to her chest. "Me?"

He nodded.

"Who?"

"Yamato-san."

Her face fell. "Of course."

"You're disappointed?"

"He's my social worker," she explained, looking up at the night sky. "Just another person who's paid to care."

"I don't understand."

"It's his profession to care. If I wasn't in his caseload, he wouldn't have asked you to look for me. For him and everyone else, caring is a transaction. Love is a transaction."

He watched her, his head kinked slightly to the side. "Then who did you hope had sent me?"

She snorted. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Spying some ventilation ducting, he walked over and sat down.

She glanced between him and the edge of the roof.

"When I told you that I had been sent by someone," he began, ignoring her apparent temptation. "You were hopeful about who it could have been. Otherwise, you wouldn't have been disappointed when you discovered that it was Yamato-san."

She bit the inside of her lip.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the old doll and regarded it briefly.

Again, she froze.

"Join me," he requested, and he set it on the ducting beside him. Then he grasped the face of his mask and pulled it up and off his head. Carefully arranging the long headdress, he set it on the other side.

She stared at the doll and he patiently waited, closing his eyes as he listened to the city.

An eternity passed.

Then her heartbeat grew louder. He could feel the warmth of her body as she stood beside him. And when he opened his eyes, she was holding the doll, her finger tracing the stitching.

"No one does anything for nothing," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Everyone always wants something. There's nothing more conditional than love and acceptance. If you want to be seen and be cared about, you have to be what people want. You have to be okay with them taking pieces of you until you're used up and worthless. Or until they realize that you were worthless all along."

He nodded, listening.

"But there are people who should love you and care for you no matter what, aren't there?" She shook her head. "Yamato-san wasn't the one who should have sent you."

"Family?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "I'm kidnapped and, and—" she choked, unable to finish.

Her tears punctuated the air before they slipped down her cheeks. With a few shaky breaths, she steeled herself again, unwilling to be weak.

"And, where were they?" she asked, her pain turning to acid. She held up the doll. "You had this, so you must know. You saw. But let me guess. They were at home, happy that I was gone. That I wasn't their problem anymore. I'm an embarrassment. A reminder of their family's shameful past. And that shameful past, where were they? Where they've always been. In the past. What the hell is the point of family? To be a disappointment? Every time?"

He sighed. "I cannot speak to this truth. And I cannot speak to the experience of being the neglected one. If I'm anyone, I'm the one you despise."

She stared at him, her jaw tight.

"I'm the family who placed conditions on my acceptance. And my love," he continued, "I had a half-brother once. It has been pointed out to me that I only cared about half of him, and it's true. But I couldn't tell you which half. Just as I couldn't tell you which half I resented. If it was the part that reflected our blood or the part that reminded me of how much my world had changed. In truth, these reasons could apply to either half, and they switched depending on the day.

"So, he suffered, having family by blood but none by heart. He was convinced that it was his fault, as if what made him unlovable was inherent in his nature. That the key to being accepted by his family and by others was to change himself, but even if he could have, it wouldn't have changed anything. The problem didn't lay with him. It lay with us."

"What did you do about it?"

"Not enough," he admitted, and his gaze rose to meet hers. "A sad truth about life is that we seldom appreciate what we have until we lose it."

She scoffed. "You deserve your despair."

"Perhaps. But I believe that it's that despair that permits me to understand why you were on that balcony tonight."

"You don't know what I've been through," she bit out icily.

"I do not. Nor do I wish to diminish your pain by comparing it to my own. It's not something meant to be measured."

She watched him for a moment, and then turned to look back at the cornice and the ten-story drop it promised. "You've thought about suicide?"

"Not specifically," he admitted, and he held out his hands as he looked down at his bloody clothes, "But there's a point where it becomes difficult to deny it. When you realize that some aspect of yourself has become reckless and self-destructive. And that you find it difficult to care."

She swallowed.

He nodded knowingly. "You see, you could jump from this building again and again, and I would give chase every time to save you with no regard for my own safety. I'm not certain if a fall from this height would kill me, but there's a reasonable chance that it would."

Her gaze returned to him. "You would die to save me because you don't care about living?"

"I'm the last of my kind," he said, his irises burning with a soft, eerie glow. "You cannot rebuild when there's nothing left. No one left."

She backed away from him, her mouth slightly agape.

The glow died. "But in a strange way, I've also discovered that this is the time in my life when I care the most. Not about myself, but about others. Even if I'm the Lord of Nothing, I would like to do it right this time."

"Is that it? Your way out?"

He looked at her, his expression one of genuine surprise. "I hadn't considered it in that light, but yes, I believe it could be. And it could be for you too."

"I don't know," she said, bitterness returning to her voice. "I'm so angry. And so tired."

In the distance along the dark horizon, a point of light grew, and with it came the rhythmic whipping of an approaching helicopter. Picking up his mask, Sesshoumaru rose to his feet.

"What happened to your brother?" she asked.

He snorted. "He found the family that he deserved, and by no small margin, he became the man that I should have been. The type of man I hope to become now."

She nodded, rubbing her arms as she felt the cold night for the first time.

Placing the mask on his face, he adjusted the headdress until it suited him. As he turned away, a figure caught his eye. Standing by the roof access, Kagome waited. Being both upwind and drowned out by the din of the crowd, he hadn't noticed her. The door opened and Tora appeared, his face dark and swollen.

"It's time to go," he said as he walked towards them.

"Is it okay to leave her?" Kagome asked, her eyes on the silhouette of the girl.

"For tonight. What she chooses to do with her life tomorrow is up to her."


	25. Stuck in a Moment

Chapter Twenty-Five: Stuck in a Moment

Lugging an overstuffed gym bag over her shoulder, Kagome entered her room and leaned back against the door until it shut behind her. Exhausted, she slumped until the bag fell onto the floor. When it thumped, her gaze drifted to it. A ribbon of plastic jutted through the teeth of the main zipper, evidence of the trash bag inside, one that held Sesshoumaru's bloody and tattered clothes.

When they had finally made it back from the hotel, he had insisted on visiting the woodworking shed. And when he had emerged, he sported fresh clothes with the bag in hand. The change hadn't done much for the blood that matted his hair or streaked his neck. Or the bile crusted on his chin.

But none of it had mattered. The video of the suicide rescue was trending.

Souta had clung to him for twenty minutes straight before he was able to convince him that he would be okay.

Water rushed through the pipes in the wall. The shower was on.

She pushed off the door and walked over to her bed. Her fingers found the straps of her vest and undid them. She tossed it onto her comforter and pulled off her hoodie next. Soon, she was stripped down to her underclothes. Opening her dresser drawers, she pulled out her yellow pajamas and put them on. They felt cozy and loose, liberating after hours trapped in Kevlar.

Her gaze fell to the gym bag again. She lingered there.

Water still rushed through the pipes.

"All right," she said to herself, making her decision.

Nudging the bag out of the doorway with her foot, she headed out into the hallway. Downstairs in the living room, she could hear two people talking.

"Why do I have my shirt off?" Tora asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"You said that you were shot in the chest," Mama explained.

"I was wearing the vest."

"And I had to check and make sure that there were no injuries. The vests aren't perfect."

"Hey, hey, hey!" he objected, half-laughing, "That tickles."

She giggled.

"Okay, yes. I have two full-sleeve tattoos. And yes of course, they're of tigers. But you don't need to—" He squeaked and then laughed nervously. "But you don't need to trace them with your finger."

"Your cheeks are the same color as your hair."

"I wonder why. Can we get back to fixing my face?"

"Maybe. What's your real first name? I know your last name but not the first."

He stuttered. "Yeah, well… What's yours?"

She giggled again.

Someone grumbled behind Kagome and she looked back to discover Grandpa.

He scowled. "That punk…"

She smiled and gave him a kiss on his forehead. "Tora's not bad, and I'm pretty sure that he's the one being hunted."

He grumbled again.

"Besides since I'm the teenage girl, I'd think that you'd be more worried about me than about mama."

"It's her job to worry about you. It's my job to worry about her."

She chuckled. "And who's going to worry about Tora? Would that be Souta?"

"He has enough on his plate with Sesshoumaru."

Her smile cooled.

Giving him a pat on the shoulder, she left him to stew. Crossing the hallway, she headed downstairs to the living room.

Inside, Mama and Tora sat by the table. And as promised, he was shirtless. A more robust build than expected, he bore a dark spot midway down his chest on the left side, a bruise from the bullet. Twin tigers coiled through jungles down both arms, the details reminding her of a beautiful woodblock print. And in contrast, his swollen face was ugly with bruising. With one eye puffy and half-shut, Mama dabbed at it with a cotton ball held by a pair of forceps. Butterfly bandages pinched the gashes around his eye sockets closed.

"Give me your hand," Mama said.

Tora did as commanded and held out his right hand.

She discarded the soiled cotton ball into the pile on the table. After swapping it for a fresh one, she applied some antiseptic and began cleaning the cuts on his knuckles.

"Need any help, mama?" Kagome offered.

"No, I think we're doing fine," she said warmly.

Tora's cheeks turned red and he felt for his shirt with his free hand.

"Stay still," Mama said.

"I'm in the lions' den," he said under his breath.

Her smile turned devilish. "And there's no escape."

Kagome paced the room, lightly nibbling at her fingernails, her mind on the gym bag sitting on her bedroom floor.

"Is there something wrong?" Mama asked her, squeezing some triple antibiotic ointment onto a swab.

At her question, Kagome collapsed onto her knees on the other side of the table. "I don't know what to do. I thought I understood things, but I don't. I'm not sure if I ever have. I don't even know if I understand myself."

She smiled, peeling a butterfly bandage from its wrapper. "What don't you understand?"

"Sesshoumaru, I guess. Or how I feel about him."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Not like that," she groaned, waving her hand.

She chuckled.

Kagome grew quiet, toying with a roll of medical tape on the table. "I don't think I really knew how angry I was with him. For how he treated Inuyasha."

"Ah."

"Maybe it's always been there. Under the surface. And tonight is when it all came boiling up."

She nodded. "You've always been passionate. Idealistic. What's right is right. And what's wrong is wrong. And as you grow older, you'll find it harder to be that in a world of grays."

"I know that I'm stubborn and idealistic," she sighed, tired of the explanation she'd heard a thousand times. "Maybe when Sesshoumaru decides to take up needlepoint, he'll make me a pillow with that memorialized on it."

She laughed. "And it will be exquisitely done."

She smiled.

Mama reached across the table, taking Kagome's hand. "I'm sorry. What you're going through is something complicated and has less to do with who you are as a person. If it's anything, it's more about who we are as people."

"Who we are as people?"

"Think about this. When we consider all the people we meet over the course of our lifetimes, it's a rare experience to know them beyond that moment of intersection. We connect with them at a point in time, blind to what came before or to what will come after. Your anger towards Sesshoumaru isn't misplaced or wrong, but it is ignorant. It doesn't care about why he was cruel to Inuyasha. And it doesn't care if he regrets it now and wishes that he could have done things differently."

"You're saying that I'm stuck in a moment," Kagome said, not missing the irony, "The time-traveling girl."

"I think that's the point, isn't it? The moment hasn't really changed for you. It's been barely a year since you came back from Naraku's defeat. Your perspective isn't unreasonable. Except that it's been five hundred years in real time."

"I guess." She sighed. "What do I do?"

"Something you haven't had a lot of experience with." She smiled. "Forgive him."

"Just forgive him?"

Mama nodded.

Kagome flicked the roll of tape across the table. "How do I do that?"

"Talk to him. I wouldn't be surprised if it's something you both need to do."

The gym bag shoved its way back to the forefront of her mind. "Yeah."

Mama twisted the cap onto the bottle of antiseptic. Then she started packing the medical supplies back into the first-aid kit, leaving the tools out that still needed to be sterilized.

"It was scary tonight, mama," Kagome admitted. "I mean, the usual violence aside. He was scary. I'm worried that he's going to get himself killed and that he doesn't care enough to stop it from happening."

"I know," she said, pausing. Something painful haunted her expression. "I had hoped my conversation with him last time would have been enough, but his trauma runs deep. Beyond any oath or honor."

"Start with forgiveness?"

Mama squeezed her hand and let her go before nudging the kit towards her. "Start with forgiveness."

They looked at Tora.

He looked back at them.

"Did you have anything that you wanted to add?" Mama asked him.

He shrugged. "I was just hoping that this was like Jurassic Park where if I stayed still, everyone would forget that I was here."

She laughed.

"Can I put my shirt back on?"

OOOOOOOOOO

With the first-aid kit in hand, Kagome rapt lightly on Sesshoumaru's door. "Can I come in?"

A moment passed, then a deep voice replied. "Yes."

She opened the door.

The warm glow of incandescent light illuminated the room. Tucked in a spare futon, Souta slept, oblivious to the lamplight and the first streaks of morning sun streaming in through the window. Beside him, Sesshoumaru sat on his bedding, scrolling through another history book on his phone. Water droplets trickled down his neck to dampen the collar of his yukata robe.

"Ready to get that bullet out?" she asked, her head tilted slightly.

Setting the phone down, his eyes fell to the boy. He gave her a nod.

She walked over to kneel behind him and set the first-aid kit down.

As she opened the case and gathered her supplies, he loosened his robe and shrugged out of the top half, exposing his back to her. Her fingers glided over his skin, still damp from his shower. Pink and ragged, she was drawn to the wound under his shoulder blade. After the siege, she had been mystified as to how he had managed to be shot in the back, and then she had seen the vest. Studded with misshapen slugs, it was a miracle that it had stopped as many as it had.

Using her thumb and forefinger, she pried the wound open and shined her penlight inside. The beam caught the glint of gunmetal. It hadn't gone deep. It was just lodged at a terrible angle.

"Lean forward," she said as she gently pushed on his back.

He did as requested, and his muscles tightened over his frame as he stretched forward to rest his elbows on the floor.

She slid to the side and picked up the forceps in her right hand as she held the penlight in her left. "Get ready."

He nodded.

Biting her lip, she angled the forceps into the wound. Using them as a lever, she pushed up against his shoulder blade to get at the bullet wedged under it.

His body tensed and a soft growl rumbled in his chest. But when Souta turned fitfully in his sleep, he quelled it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. The jaws of the forceps grasped the bullet, and with as much care as possible, she tugged it free. She dropped the slug onto some gauze and used some other strips to wipe up the blood and fluid trickling from the wound. Again, she peered inside, but found only the sensation of youki churning within. "It's out."

He sat back up.

"Now let's have a look at the rest of you."

Before he could object, she shined the penlight along his scalp until she came across a patch of hair still tinted pink despite his earlier shower. Using her thumb, she swept it away, revealing the rough flesh underneath. Youki swirled and his skull seemed intact.

"Are you still nauseous? Are you experiencing any dizziness?" she asked.

"At times," he admitted.

She frowned.

"Do not concern yourself."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, scooting on her knees to sit in front of him. She held up the penlight. "I'm going to shine this in your eyes. Just one last check before I don't concern myself, all right?"

His expression was inscrutable, whether he was indifferent or irritated, she couldn't tell.

The light beam panned up, and as it centered on his eye, the oval of his pupil narrowed into a slit.

A beast. A person.

A lord. A pauper.

A villain. A hero.

"I was afraid when we found you," she confessed, letting the light beam travel to his other eye, satisfied when its pupil contracted as it should. The penlight clicked off. "Terrified is probably more accurate. I wanted to leave you there, sealed. All I could think about was this face." She touched his jaw gently. "And the pain I had attached to it. The dread. And somewhere deep, the anger."

Her hand left his face as she slid to the side again, her focus on his flank.

Following her line of sight, he leaned away from her and moved his arm back to expose his torso.

"I don't know if you remember," she continued, clicking her penlight on to examine the healing wound, "But I lashed out at you when you woke up. I was so scared that you were going to start fighting. That you were going to start hurting people, so I hurt you first. I called you the Lord of Nothing. It was spiteful."

Her finger grazed the rough mark that was once a through-and-through wound. His flesh twitched. Ticklish, but no pain.

Scooting down, she headed towards his lower body.

Leaning forward, he swept just enough robe out of the way to reveal his thigh.

"Mama says that I'm stuck in that moment," she explained, her finger running over the dimple that spoiled his thigh. It was a larger wound than the others, evidence of the added injury that he sustained digging the bullet out. "The point in time when you were violent and cruel. When you only cared about respect and what you deserved. What you as a son deserved. Not what you as a brother were supposed to give."

Her hand slipped down the side of his outer thigh and she gave it an upward nudge.

He rolled onto his side, repositioned himself, and then laid down on his stomach.

She took the hem of his robe and folded it up just high enough to expose the back of his other thigh and his last wound. It shared the same exacerbated condition as the other, only this one was fresher. It tunneled deep into the muscle. But the youki was there. He was healing.

"I think you're stuck there too, but not in the same way. You regret what you've done like I regret how I've treated you since we broke the seal."

"You have no reason to feel guilt," he said quietly. "I am what you feared."

"No, you aren't. That girl tonight. I demanded to go on this mission to save her because I wanted her to know that someone cared. That she wasn't alone. That Tora cared. That I cared. But you're the one who saved her. You understood her." Tears welled in her eyes and her voice trembled. "I know that if I had been the one to find her, she would have died. Whether she had jumped yet or not."

He sighed, stretching his elbows forward. Turning his head to the side, he rested his cheek on his forearm.

"She lived because of you," she continued. "Because you aren't the same person. And I want you to know that I forgive you. I forgive you for who you were in that moment of time. The time when you were cruel. And if you can, forgive me for the times that I've been cruel since then."

He lay there silently, and time passed.

She closed her eyes, disappointment encroaching on her heart.

"For every year of life lived, I spent a year sealed, lost in the deep," he said wistfully, "It was an existence without thought. Without dream. But there was feeling. It was something distant. At first, it seemed like it belonged to the deep. But I realized that it was an echo. A reflection of a singular feeling. It was loss. My loss. My creation."

She sniffed.

"I accept your forgiveness, and I forgive you."

"And for yourself? Can you forgive yourself?"

The morning light grew brighter through the gaps in the blinds.

"One day."

She touched him on the shoulder. "Promise?"

He looked back at her, and then away again, his expression gentle. "Promise."


	26. Damage Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is now caught up with how much is published elsewhere. Expect updates once per week. Maybe twice.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Damage Control

With a ding, the elevator doors opened.

Wearing a white suit and gold aviators, Kurosawa strolled out of the elevator, adjusting his cuffs. In dark brown, Hyousuke followed him, his stride crisp. Together, they headed down the corridor, passing by now familiar forested murals on rice-paper walls. Ahead, a young woman in a fine kimono waited by a sliding door, its panels nearly hidden by the imagery. When they approached, she gave them a polite bow as she slid the door down its track. Without acknowledging in kind, the men entered.

A luxuriously big conference room awaited them inside. Overlooking the financial district, floor-to-ceiling windows ran the length of the room and at its center sat a massive table topped in black granite, the surface reflecting the sunlight like a pool of water. With his arms crossed, Ishida leaned against a window, his attention on the cutting-edge television mounted at the end of the room.

Swiftly, Hyousuke pulled out one of the chairs and Kurosawa sat down.

On the television, chaotic footage from a nightclub dance floor played. The shaky camera captured a white blur bouncing between dark-suited men with gunfire popping, a fire alarm blaring, and a racing music tempo tying it all together.

'That deejay won't have to worry about job security for some time,' Kurosawa thought, his finger tapping on the granite. He glanced back at Hyousuke. His normally composed lieutenant fidgeted, his eyes wild as he stared at the video.

On the screen, the blur launched a table at a group of men and for a moment, he was clearly visible. The video paused.

Ishida pushed off the window and walked over to the table. He tossed the television remote down, setting it spinning across the surface.

"This is a nightmare," he growled. "There's at least a dozen more videos spreading all over the damn internet. They're calling him the Demon of Namidabashi. The nightclub isn't even in the San'ya District. I'd like to find the asshole who came up with that name."

Kurosawa gazed at the screen. He'd already watched every video Ishida mentioned, finally beholding the man who had singlehandedly hamstrung his clan, forcing him to merge with the Shikai to survive. Raw kinetic power frozen in time, the demon floated in space, his clothing and hair flaring around him. But it was the mask that captivated him. The snarling canine visage and the molten gold eyes that smoldered behind it. The cold rage of vengeance. Like a reflection of himself.

"The cops arrested almost sixty people between the nightclub and the hotel," Ishida continued, "And our weaker brothers couldn't keep from spewing the Shikai name. Or from detailing every last aspect of the operation. We didn't even get a day before it was leaked to the press."

Kurosawa sat back in his chair, a smirk hinting at his lips.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Not particularly."

Ishida scoffed. "Then you can wipe that smug look off your face, you bastard."

Hyousuke stepped forward.

Kurosawa held up a staying hand, his smirk remaining. "Disgusting business running a gaijin whorehouse. Your clan deserves to have its name dragged through the mud for that kind of shit."

"Escort services are a profitable business," Ishida corrected, giving him a cool look. "And fundamentally just as reputable as the protection rackets or gambling dens you run. Desperate people come to us looking for hope, and like any other part of life, they have to work off that debt."

"Except when they try to take a dive off a balcony."

"And you haven't had a debtor commit suicide?"

Kurosawa folded his hands against his stomach. "Never a fifteen-year-old girl. And never on camera."

Ishida laughed. "I'm sure we wouldn't have to scrape the surface too deep before we discovered a dead minor or two associated with Kuro-Sakura, so spare me."

He sighed. "Did you invite me here to trade insults or did you have something actually worth my time in mind?"

He shook his head and laughed to himself. "This asshole."

Kurosawa waited.

He nodded towards the television screen and the demon it displayed. "You're here because of him."

"The nerve that this clan has," he said with mock incredulity. "Here I am enjoying the karmic ecstasy of watching you all get reamed by the same guy that was used to justify stripping me of my birthright, and you expect me to… help you?" He spied back at Hyousuke. "Do you remember when he said that I didn't deserve to lead my clan because this demon was bleeding me out?"

"Yes, oya-jii. In the elevator."

He nodded. "That's right. In the elevator. Funny how things change."

"It's not what I want," Ishida said, scoffing. "It's what the oyabun wants."

"What the oyabun wants? You know that's interesting. Because to me, it seems like the oyabun and the demon have something in common. I don't know. Something about their eyes."

Ishida scowled.

Kurosawa's smirk broadened to a self-satisfied grin.

"You're so smart. So entitled," he said, his voice flat, "That you don't even think about how you make things worse for yourself."

"How am I doing that?"

"I'll concede that this little urban myth turned out to be a momentary setback for our business prospects in Tokyo. But he's still our enemy, which also makes him your enemy. And like this demon, our oyabun has power moves too. So, I have to ask you, do you want two supernatural enemies or just the one?"

His smile sobered into a scowl.

"Your clan is gone. Get over it and move on." Ishida said, shaking his head. "You're not an oyabun anymore. But you are a regional boss for the biggest yakuza clan in Japan. You wield more power and prestige now than you ever did as the father of some pathetic clan in the shittiest part of Tokyo."

"I don't care about being someone else's dog."

"Then get cut down. This isn't a matter of choice." He gestured to the television. "This used to be a small-time problem screwing up a few business deals here and there. But it's public now. And more than that, he's becoming a symbol. Remember what I said about our power diminishing the more people are willing to talk about us? Well, right now it's the opposite for him. We need to find a way to take care of him where he gets the heat and we stay in the shadows, got it?"

Kurosawa looked away.

The warm afternoon light filtered in through the windows.

"Fine," he ground out.

"Tell us what you know about the demon. Every detail."

OOOOOOOOOO

Scattered floodlights shone down on the shipping yard, burning away pockets of the black night to reveal stacks of colorful cargo containers. Three high, they were arranged in long rows, their hatches facing corridors cast in shadow. Down one corridor, flashlight beams panned over the containers and at the closest intersection, a delivery truck sat parked.

"Have you found it?" a man asked loudly. His light flitted from container-to-container, hovering briefly over identification numbers before moving on.

"Our guy says they scanned it into inventory this afternoon, Yoshiro-san," another man replied, the soft glow of his cellphone screen illuminating his chest and face. "We're in the right row, so it has to be here somewhere."

The whine of a motor buzzed, growing louder.

One-by-one, each of the flashlight beams tracked from the containers to the lit intersection at the far end of the corridor.

The buzz raced closer.

Yoshiro reached to his belt, retrieving his gun.

Gleaming bright red, a motorcycle appeared, skidding to a stop into the intersection. Its engine growling hungrily, it idled. And coolly, its helmeted rider turned to face them. Then he gave a few cheeky revs, spun a tight donut, and blasted from sight.

"What are you all waiting for?" Yoshiro barked. "Go get him! What happened to our lookouts?! Someone call them!"

"They're currently indisposed," a voice explained dryly behind him.

His mouth agape, he turned slowly to discover a figure in white towering over him. He didn't feel the punch. The gun clattered to the ground.

The men split, most turning back to defend their boss as the rest rushed in pursuit of the motorcyclist.

Twirling his crowbar once, the demon bounded towards them. Leaping off the side of a container, he twisted in the air, his tunic tails and mane spinning with him as he landed a hard kick. The man flew back, colliding with another behind him. Without losing momentum, the demon launched forward, striking the next man in the gut with a crowbar and finishing him with a punch to the jaw as he bowled over.

"It must be almost summertime, because you've gone sleeveless," a man joyfully chimed in behind him.

The demon glared back at him, but glowing eyes only encouraged Tora.

"I must admit that I do my best to get my arms looking good, but the definition you have…" He made a kiss sound, his hand blooming from his lips. "What pisses me off is that I know that you do nothing to get it. Youkai genes, or whatever. So jealous."

A gang of men barreled from around the corner past where the delivery truck waited. Tora turned on his heel to face them. Then both masked heroes pressed together as their respective opponents closed the distance to reach them.

"Are we fighting back-to-back? We're fighting back-to-back!" Tora yelled gleefully as he blocked a punch and countered with a blow to the stomach. He pulled his baton from its pouch. "This is so #%$#ing awesome! Just like the movies. Bucket list item checked off! This is the greatest thing ever!"

The demon sighed, unsure of half of what he said. "We were supposed to perform a flanking maneuver. Not be flanked by them."

"Yeah, but this is way cooler."

"Next time I will beat them with your motorcycle instead of a crowbar."

"You wouldn't dare hurt Akane!" he exclaimed as he struck a man in the face with his baton and followed it with a swift kick. "She carried you home that one time. You owe her."

He snorted, hooking a man around the neck with his crowbar and slamming him face first into the ground.

"Get ready! Now we lean into each other and switch sides."

"My side is almost done and yours is not."

"That's not the point."

His hand darting out, the demon grabbed a man by the throat and bounced him off one of the containers.

"C'mon," Tora pleaded.

He sighed again. "As you wish."

"Yes!"

Each taking a step back, they pressed against each other and spun. As they came to face the other side, they pushed off into their enemies. Using their crowbar and baton, they mowed through the remaining men, their movements fast and precise. Soon they were standing alone, bodies writhing in agony around their feet.

In the distance, a helicopter whipped.

"That was easy," Tora said, chuckling as he kicked their weapons away. "Your nightly patrols are way more fun than I expected."

Sesshoumaru gave him a flat look.

"What?"

Before he could reply, he caught a scent. There was somebody else nearby.

"Finish here. I will return."

"No problem," Tora said, as he took the gun apart.

In a single leap, Sesshoumaru alighted onto a container row and started running down its length, his footfalls silent. Several rows over he spied the glow of headlights. He sprang from row-to-row, dodging the grace of the floodlights as he closed in on the vehicle.

Landing softly on the final row, he peered down into the corridor, discovering a black sedan shining its lights onto the open hatch of a container. A man sorted through the contents of the shipment as another sat leisurely on the hood of the car.

"Are there any tablets in there, Hyousuke?" the man on the car asked, adjusting the white suit jacket he wore draped over his shoulders.

"No, oya-jii," the other replied as he leaned back, the headlights reflecting his bald pate. "Only fragrances."

"That's too bad," he said, frowning. "Any good stuff?"

"None that you prefer."

Then the lights flared white as the demon landed solidly between the two men. Rising to stand, he glanced between them, his attention lingering on the man in the container.

The man on the car began to clap. "Impressive."

His eyes snapped to him.

"It's rare to meet someone who's even taller in person than you expected," he said, sneering. "The name is Kurosawa Raiden. I've heard that it's polite to give your name right before you destroy a man."

Glass shattered, and the pungent odor of perfume flooded the air.

The demon looked back at the man in the container and found him trembling, his flop sweat mixing with the cloying stink that overwhelmed his nose.

"Don't mind Hyousuke," Kurosawa assured, "You messed him up pretty good at my gambling den a while back, and he hasn't been quite the same since. Of which by the way, I never got the chance to repay you for. Or the months that you spent disrupting my business interests. I lost my clan because of you, you demon piece of shit."

"Pity," he replied dryly.

"Things are about to change though."

"How's that?"

"I suppose you could call it public relations damage control. Not my idea. A little too deceptive and cowardly. I'd much prefer something more direct, like a violent exorcism. But then, I'll do anything to get back what's mine. And I'll sacrifice anyone along the way."

A dog whistle pierced the air. Two notes. The signal for a diversion. A distraction. Mystified, he didn't understand what it meant now. But what he knew for certain was that it came from Tora.

The helicopter grew louder.

Pivoting on his heel, the demon turned towards the fight scene he had just left and sprang onto the container row.

His aviators burning gold as they caught the oblique glow of the headlights, Kurosawa watched him go, smiling.

Sesshoumaru raced across the shipping yard, ignoring the revealing illumination of the floodlights as he ran. The stench of perfume clearing from his nose, he sensed the metallic tones of blood, the smell growing stronger as he approached.

Landing on a container stack overlooking the corridor, he looked down into it. An old feeling of wrongness born by every battlefield he'd fought on itched the back of his neck. And it told him what happened before his eyes did. The bodies of the men below were now simply that. Bodies.

The blinding glare of a searchlight fell upon him. Overhead, a helicopter hovered, its whipping blades deafening.

"This is the police," a voice crackled over its speaker. "Stay where you are and get down on the ground."


	27. Blinded by the Fight

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Blinded by the Fight

The searchlight's brilliant beam shined down, bathing Sesshoumaru and the death that lay below him in white light. Ignoring the commands that repeated over the helicopter's speakers, he focused his attention on the massacre. The stench of blood inundated the air, polluting his nose and drowning out other scents, even profiles familiar to him. Their colors muted, he scanned the bodies strewn throughout the corridor, searching for one in red and black and hoping not to find it.

His brow furrowed.

There were fewer men than before, and the white-suited man's admission about being willing to sacrifice took on new meaning. Allies killing allies. But that it had happened just now meant that those responsible were still close by. Through the noise, he tried to listen for them, but the beating blades of the helicopter were too loud and overwhelmed his hearing.

Red lights spun and sirens wailed at the shipping yard's main gate as police cars poured in. They sped down the lanes towards him with the helicopter as their beacon.

He looked back at the distant row of cargo containers where he had met the white-suited man and realized that he was gritting his teeth. There was a tightness in his chest that evolved into a low growl. It had been so long that he hardly recognized the feeling. It was anger.

Crouching down, he moved to leap towards that distant row.

Slicing through the air, the helicopter dove down, putting itself between him and his prey.

Snarling, he reached for the crowbar in his sash, ready to fling it at its searchlight to blind it.

Then he caught himself and his recklessness. The memory of a boy sobbing into his side, unwilling to let him go, silenced his growl. He had someplace where he belonged with people who worried about him. And they worried about him as a person and despite who he once was. They cared when he could not.

Fleeing towards a side exit, he spied the sedan, and his growl resurged.

He slipped down into the next corridor over, bypassing the helicopter. And then he was gone, racing down the length of the row until he reached the intersecting lane. As he turned, he spotted red taillights at the yard exit and from the corner of his eye, the beam of the searchlight pursued. Within a few strides, the light was on him, illuminating him as he closed in on the car.

The sedan turned onto the street.

His legs pumping, he rushed up behind it and reached out to catch it by the rear fender. With a swipe, he sent it spinning across the street and onto the sidewalk. A fountain burst up as it barreled through a fire hydrant. Sprays of water pelted him, drenching his clothes. But he didn't feel it. He was somewhere else. Deep in the forest. Blood rushed in his ears and steam from his breath dampened the underside of his mask. His eyes bright, he stalked forward, eager to peel the car apart, wanting the soft bits inside.

Stinging, something clipped his shoulder.

He blinked, and the forest fell away. His hand felt for an injury, but he only found tender skin.

A black object the size of his fingernail bounced across the pavement. Crouching down, he picked it up. It felt like rubber.

Another sting. This time at his lower back.

His gaze fell to the puddling water and the flashing red lights it reflected. And as his blood slowed, staticky voices over speakers penetrated his mind.

"Get down on the ground!" they commanded. "Or we will shoot!"

Standing up, he turned to spy over his shoulder. A barricade of police cars lined the street backed by an armored vehicle. Shielded by their car doors, policemen braced themselves with their guns leveled at him. He looked in the opposing direction and found another barricade forming as more cars rolled up. Overhead, the omnipresent helicopter hovered, its searchlight pinned to him.

He stepped back.

And the pavement hit him. The glare of the searchlight filled his vision, spinning almost as fast as the helicopter's rotors. Pain erupted inside his skull and any threads of thought he held snapped. His body and senses felt disconnected and numb, scattered by the nova that had been his mind.

"You shot him in the head!" a man accused, his voice distorted. "Who trained you on nonlethal tactics?!"

Then the exploded pieces of himself streamed back together, reforming their attachments as he became whole again. The spinning slowed. His senses came back into focus. The sound of approaching footsteps scuffing pavement. The nervous sweat of men.

"He's still alive. Restrain him."

A hand reached down to grab his shoulder, and the demon seized its wrist.

The policeman gasped, struggling against the vice of his grip and the burning eyes that held him even tighter. The demon took him by the vest and pulled him down with an ease like gravity. The man sputtered his fear, and then he was cast away, striking the officers who were rushing to his aid.

Rising to his feet, the demon glared down at them.

"Move!" a voice yelled over the speaker.

The officers scrambled out of the way.

Gunfire popped.

Rubber bullets ricocheted across empty pavement.

The searchlight flew to the building beyond the wrecked car, its beam settling on the third story and the ragged edges of a broken window.

Hidden in the deep shadows cast by the light, Sesshoumaru cradled his skull, his eyes pinched shut and his jaw clenched. Kagome had warned him that it was too early to patrol. That though his head injury from the hotel had healed, he was at risk for another concussion. Just one blow to the head. It was only after Tora had agreed to accompany him this evening that anyone in the household had let him go.

Cracking one eye open, he examined his surroundings. Sheets of clear plastic hung beside exposed drywall. Set upon scattered sawhorses, renovation equipment and supplies filled what would be a series of office suites. He looked back towards the glowing window and listened to the chaotic din of sirens and crowds. All suffocated by the droning helicopter.

The agony pulsing in his brain subsided, reaching a level that he could lock down and push away. And as his ability to think returned, he was confronted by his recklessness. His impatience. His blindness. The rage of being deceived and manipulated. Of being disrespected.

Burning blood surged in his veins.

And then it cooled.

He really hadn't changed. When he had encountered the white-suited man, he memorized his scent profile. There was no place in the city that he could flee to. No shelter that could hide him. And yet in his anger, he had foolishly pursued him, trapping himself better than that abhorrent coward could have dreamt of doing himself. All while abandoning an ally to an unknown fate. He should have searched for Tora.

"Saved for a night," he said to himself, remembering his friend's words, but more than that, he recalled his purpose. As a man who guided and supported the vulnerable, he had admitted once that the work he did during the day mattered more than anything that he did at night.

Reaching into the sash at his back, Sesshoumaru retrieved his crowbar. With its blue paint worn away along its hard edges, it was a hefty and well-used piece of alloy. A tool by design. A weapon by choice. He thought about Miyamoto Musashi and the overlapping paths of a carpenter and a sword master. In his bedroom, there was a black duffel bag, and in it was the hope he shared with the community. Opportunity transformed into hot water heaters, radiators, or air conditioning units. Sometimes it became something as simple as a public transit pass.

His gaze returned to the window.

Did he really need to follow both paths? Could he just be the crowbar that's used to build and not to break? Could that be the way out that spares the ones who care about him from his recklessness?

A metal cannister tumbled through the broken window and bounced along the tarp-covered floor.

He stared at it, his brow furrowed.

Then it began to spin wildly, spewing a toxic miasma into the air.

His lungs seized in his chest as a coughing fit ripped through his body. With his sinuses and throat burning, he lunged forward. Hooking the can with his crowbar, he flung it back out the window. He hadn't inhaled much, but it was enough. Secretions poured from his nose and mouth and clogged his throat. Pushing up his mask, he coughed up and spat out what he could, but it kept coming. And his eyes. Tears blurred his vision and poured down his cheeks. The stinging pain did the most to blind him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he resisted the urge to rub at them, certain that it would make it worse.

Through the unfinished walls, he heard the hustle of boots echoing through a stairwell.

He wiped his lip clean with the back of his hand and pulled his mask back down. His sense of smell was gone. His vision too. And a wave of vertigo tugged at his balance. He twirled his crowbar once and caught it handily before securing it in his sash. Whether the demon had any place in his future would be settled later. For now, he smirked, a fang clipping his lip.

Familiar and constant now, the whipping rhythm of the helicopter faded away, becoming background noise like the rushing city beyond. He tilted his head, listening. They approached. Single file. The rustling plastic sheeting and cloth tarps made their cautious footfalls deafening.

His arm bursting through the wall, the demon grabbed the first one by the vest and yanked him through. The man yelped, his voice muffled by a gas mask. He ripped it off his face and tore his gun away, crushing it with one hand. With an easy effort, he tossed the man across the room towards the window. He landed with a grunt, the air knocked from him. And then he started coughing. The demon's smirk broadened.

Gunfire erupted from the hole in the wall.

He dove to the side, bullets pelting his chest. He felt none of it.

Bumping into a sawhorse, he hefted it up and threw it. It crushed through the wall, sending debris flying. A man grunted as it struck him, driving his body into an adjacent wall. There he hung, writhing senselessly.

His comrades rushed past him. They poured through the doorway and into the room, incidentally kicking debris with their boots.

Grabbing the first man by the throat, he stripped him of his mask and gun before flinging him towards the sound of desperate coughing. The man bounced off his comrade before banging into a stack of building supplies. Groans sputtered from him. Then throat-ripping coughs.

The two men who had raced in behind him, hopped back, putting distance between themselves and the demon's reach.

The sensation of the world tipping stumbled his feet as he pursued them. Then he felt two darts pierce his abdomen. Intense pain shot through him and every muscle in his body seized up. A snarling growl roared from his throat through gritted teeth as he fought against the electrical current. His hand shaking, he felt for the darts and yanked them out. Then he lunged forward, following the wires.

Expletives burst from the man when he caught him and the demon jammed the darts into his arm, returning the favor. Tearing the taser from the his hand, he pulled the trigger, delivering a final shock.

Debris crunched.

He sprang back as the other man dove forward, swinging his baton. And as it swept past, he closed in again, grabbing the man by the wrist and punching him across the face. The gas mask offered little protection, and he crumpled from the blow.

On the other side of the wall and as quietly as he could, the last man called for back-up over the comms.

The demon flew into the doorway, listening for him.

He stumbled back, the soles of his boots catching on the tarp.

"Found you," he growled delightedly, drool oozing from the maw of his mask.

Stuttering, the man dropped his gun.

But before the demon could spring forward, a nausea-inducing moment of vertigo pulled the floor out from under him. And as he fell back, he brought his leg up and landed a solid kick to his jaw. The man's head struck the drywall, cratering it before he collapsed into a heap.

On his back, Sesshoumaru laid there for a moment and considered his situation. Aside from his earlier disappointment in himself, he concluded that he was also disgusted by how nasally his voice had become.

More boots entered the stairwell.

And he was on his feet. In no position to battle an endless barrage of policemen, he felt his way through the rooms, hoping that he remembered the layout correctly. Finding a wall more solid than the rest, he moved along it until he met a window. Unlatching its lock, he opened it wide.

The noise of the city rushed in. Far back and to his right, he heard the helicopter hovering, unintelligible orders crackling over its speakers. Somewhere below it, a crowd rumbled. And from the way the chaos echoed beneath him, he was certain there was an alleyway. A third story jump was doable.

Somewhere behind him, plastic sheeting rustled.

And he was gone.

As he fell, the direction of the noise changed, rising to meet him. And when it was almost level with him, he braced for the ground. His boots hit solid pavement, his knees bending with the impact. Using the din of the crowd as a guide to avoid, he headed down the alleyway. To still have his hearing was good, but without his vision or sense of smell, he doubted that he could put enough distance between himself and the police to escape, especially with the helicopter.

The echo softened and the hum of a busy street lay ahead.

He paused, uncertain of where to go.

Then a voice called out, "Pork cutlet guy?"


	28. Having Faith

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Having Faith

Sitting cross-legged at the family table, Souta stared at his math homework. Fractions and decimals, rows of problems were gridded across his tablet screen. None of them done.

He tabbed to another window, revealing a social media feed, and he hit refresh. Old videos of a nightclub fight and a suicide rescue populated along with dozens of speculating comments, either admiring or condemning the Demon of Namidabashi.

He sighed with relief. There was nothing new.

A cup of green tea in her hand, Kagome peeked into the living room.

"Souta, do your homework," she scolded lightheartedly.

"I am," he growled, switching back to the first tab.

Smirking, she brought her cup to her lips and blew on the steamy surface before taking a sip.

"I can't concentrate with you here," he snapped at her, "So go away."

"Grouchy."

"Leave me alone."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She sighed, her tone softening. "He'll be all right."

He slammed his stylus down onto the table. "Don't talk to me like I'm a little kid. I'm not stupid!"

"What's your problem?" she snapped back. "I was trying to comfort you."

"By lying to me? By pretending that everything will be okay when you don't know if it will be? And if he comes home tonight all messed up, are you going to act like it's some big surprise?" His voice turned shrill and feminine. "Look at me, I'm Kagome. I can't believe Sesshoumaru got shot five times and almost fell off a ten-story building tonight. We were only looking for a missing girl. What were the chances that this was going to happen?"

Choking on her tea, she started to cough.

"If you're trying to protect me by telling me that he'll be fine, don't."

The coughing continued.

He crossed his arms against his chest and waited.

"What he's doing," she explained, clearing her throat, "It isn't any more dangerous than what I went through every day in the Sengoku Jidai. And you didn't have to worry about me then."

"Well, maybe I should have! Maybe I should have hid your backpack. Or your clothes." He threw his hands up in the air. "But then again maybe you have a great sense of smell, so you'd find your stuff anyway."

She smiled softly. "I'm sorry. I only meant to comfort you."

He grumbled under his breath.

"What I said before. It's not a lie. It's what I tell myself," she said as she entered the room. Taking a seat on the floor beside the table, she looked him in the eyes. "I want to believe that he'll be all right. In fact, I have to believe it. Because, if I think about every bad thing that could happen, I freeze up. I can't do what I need to do."

"And what's that?"

She nodded towards his tablet. "Math homework. Or my physics reading. Or making sure the first aid kit is stocked up."

"And if he's not okay?"

"Then I do what I need to do if he's not okay. And I make a plan."

Letting out a tired sigh, he picked up his stylus.

"Good."

"I'm sorry for making fun of you," he muttered, his gaze on the tablet, seeing it but not seeing it.

She laughed. "It was like looking in a mirror."

He smiled begrudgingly.

Climbing to her feet, she gazed at him and returned his smile but in better spirits. "I know that you're not in the mood for reassurances but remember that we made Tora go with him too. It's just a routine night."

"I know."

Chiming, a notification message popped up on the tablet screen.

His brow furrowed.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"The Demon of Namidabashi is trending."

Frowning, she walked around the table to stand behind him. As she leaned down to spy over his shoulder, he switched to his social media tab. A new video popped up in the feed.

The footage jounced about as the person filming it wove through the crowd trying to get a better view, their breathing staticky across the phone speaker. A geyser of water poured down, dousing the street. Somewhere off camera, police lights pulsed, illuminating everything in flashing red. Center-framed and in costume, Sesshoumaru stood, surrounded by officers. He stepped backwards.

There was a pop.

He was on the ground, writhing weakly.

"Oh, shit," she cursed, her hand lightly cupping her mouth, then she called out, "Mama!"

"Yes, Kagome?" she replied from another room.

"Sesshoumaru is fighting the cops!"

"What?!"

A police officer approached him and was tossed away, colliding with several others as they closed in. Then he was gone. More gunshots rang out.

"Is he all right?" Mama asked worriedly.

Kagome stuttered. "I-I don't know. It's hard to tell with him."

Protected by a gas mask, another police officer entered the frame with a bulky rifle in hand. Aiming high, he sighted a broken, third-story window, and a bang echoed. A few seconds later, white smoke billowed from the window. Then the cannister flew back out, trailing fumes as it bounced across the street and into the crowd. Yelling and running ensued.

"How are the cops doing?" Mama asked.

She sighed. "About as expected."

"Is it happening right now?"

"Maybe? The video shows…" She searched for the date stamp on the post. "Fifteen minutes ago, at the latest."

"I'm calling Tora."

"Good idea," she said as she patted her pockets. "Where's my phone? Maybe he left me a message or something." Coming up empty, she rushed out of the room and headed upstairs to her bedroom.

Souta exited the apps on his tablet and opened another one. After it loaded, he nodded, his jaw set. Then he was on his feet, walking towards the entryway to get his jacket from its hook.

"Do what I need to do if he's not okay. And I make a plan."

OOOOOOOOOO

With one hand atop his head pinning his fedora down, Nakagawa hustled through the shipping yard. As he passed by rows of cargo containers, he himself was outpaced by another convoy of forensic vans. Their destination was the same: the multiple homicide crime scene haloed in floodlights ahead.

A strange brew of emotions tightened in his chest. The excitement that arose with a new case and sympathy when he considered how many had died. And an unexpected pang of anxiety that overshadowed it all. The Demon of Namidabashi was the prime suspect. After seeing him risk his life to save a girl, it hadn't seemed right. And when he watched the viral video on the train, he knew for certain that something was off.

He spared a glance back to the city skyline behind him. Marked by its blinking navigation lights and the brilliance of its searchlight, a helicopter droned as it patrolled the streets, hunting. He sighed with relief. They hadn't caught the demon yet.

He wasn't sure whose luck it was that had kept him busy at the prefectural headquarters until well after his shift was over. The paperwork involved with the missing girl cases had transformed into a prosecution nightmare with the sex trafficking developments and the nightclub and hotel shootouts. It was making someone's career somewhere, but not his. Still, he told himself a long time ago that justice was all that he cared about. And so, his paperwork would be perfect, no matter how late he had to stay at the office.

As he approached the crime scene, portable lighting rigs turned night into day and a ribbon of police tape cordoned off the area. Just inside the tapeline, the forensic team started setting up their tables and laying down numbered cards beside items of interest. Their best forensic lead, Yoshino Maho, was there. And standing with her but on this side of the tape, he spotted Jin, her phone in hand as she took notes.

He snorted, shaking his head as he wondered when she slept.

"Detective Nakagawa," Yoshino greeted.

"Good evening, Yoshino-san," he replied breathlessly as he jogged up to them.

"Do you ever sleep?" Jin asked incredulously.

He chuckled.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Yoshino-san," he said, turning his attention happily to the forensic lead, "What do you know so far?"

"As I was telling Detective Jin," she began, "It's a little early in our investigation for me to give either of you any reliable information. We haven't collected enough evidence."

"I realize that. And I think I speak for the two of us when I say that we don't intend to apply undue pressure on you, especially about anything you can't confirm. Just whatever you know with reasonable sureness."

She eyed them both, her lips screwed up into a frown.

He gave her his best smile, well aware of its charming goofiness.

"Fine," she said with a sigh. "I'll tell you guys what I know. Keep it brief though. The weather is decent tonight, so I'm not as worried about losing evidence, but it's still a time game, understand?"

"Got it."

"We have eight victims," she explained, "So far, it appears that they've been killed by blunt force trauma. We discovered a crowbar at the scene, and while it seems to have blood and hair trace evidence on it, I cannot confirm that it's the murder weapon without matching it to the injuries."

"Right."

"But it's the likely murder weapon," Jin confirmed. "Similar to what the prime suspect has been seen using?"

"I cannot confirm that," Yoshino said, shrugging, "I only gather evidence. You guys are the ones who connect the dots."

"He didn't do it," Nakagawa disputed. "He doesn't kill people. He's being..."

"Please don't say it," Jin muttered, rubbing her temples. "Please don't say that he's been set-up."

"He's being set-up."

She groaned. "What makes you think that? He was literally at the crime scene when it happened."

"That doesn't matter. I mean, that's the point of a set-up, right?"

"Please don't do this. It's embarrassing."

"Look," he said as he pulled his phone from his trench coat pocket and brought up the video. The footage played, and as the demon on the screen stepped backwards, he paused it. "See here, before he's shot, we can see his back." He zoomed in. "His crowbar is in his sash. This one isn't his."

She frowned.

"Yoshino-san?" he called out, "If a person killed eight people with a crowbar, would they get blood on their clothes?"

She hummed thoughtfully. "I don't think there's any way that you wouldn't be covered in blood, either from the back spatter from striking the victim or from the cast-off from the weapon."

Raising his eyebrows, he glanced at Jin before letting the video play. He paused it again, this time after the demon had tossed the officer away but before he leapt to the window above. He was facing the camera. "Where's the blood, Fumiko? This guy wears white. Where is it?"

"There's some red on the tunic at the bottom," she tried and softly added. "And don't call me Fumiko."

"You've seen him before. Twice. The red at the bottom is the design. The blood should be all over his chest and abdomen. But there's none."

"Maybe he changed his clothes."

"When? When did he have time? Our people were onto him the instant it happened. And that's another thing. Who called this in?" He gestured to the crime scene. "Who are these victims? What were they doing here? Who owns this shipping yard?"

She crossed her arms. "I don't know."

"Hold on," Yoshino said, holding up a finger. Stepping away, she approached one of her assistants and borrowed their tablet. With it in hand, she returned. "Some of the victims have IDs on them."

She read the names.

His fists clenching, he exclaimed, "They're guys from the case!"

Jin nodded. "The missing girls. These men are gang members. They were arrested at the hotel, and they talked."

"Something is going on here," he concluded, pointing to his phone screen and the demon frozen on it. "And he's being set-up."

She sighed. "Then what was he doing at the scene of the crime if he's not involved? Why was he here at all?"

"I don't know."

"He's a vigilante," she said, shaking her head, "Even if he didn't kill these people. Even if it's a set-up. What he's doing is wrong. It's criminal. He needs to be caught and arrested. He needs to answer for the crimes he has committed."

Slipping his phone into his pocket, he turned and started walking away, heading towards the shipping yard exit.

"Nakagawa…"

"He saved that girl. He exposed a sex trafficking ring. He doesn't deserve this."

OOOOOOOOOO

Riding with the tide of traffic on a busy Tokyo avenue, Hiroshi pedaled his bicycle. Sporting a light coat with his stand's logo, he wore a blocky pack on his back, now empty of the takeout he had just delivered. Demand for his family's ramen was booming, but the prospect of more deliveries wasn't what drove him to weave between cars as he rushed back. Even though there hadn't been anymore trouble, he still didn't like leaving his father alone at the stand for long.

In a rolling cascade, brake lights filled the avenue as the traffic ahead came to a stop.

Somewhere nearby, a helicopter whipped.

Yanking up on the handlebars, Hiroshi hopped onto the sidewalk. With a ring of his bell, he darted around pedestrians, speeding along. Hard to hear over the din of the street, people rumbled nearby, and his feet stopped pedaling as he tried to listen. Was it a crowd? Maybe a block over?

A man in white stepped out in front of him.

"Shit!" he blurted out under his breath and swerved, narrowly missing him. His heart beating in his throat, he spied back to see if he was all right, and his jaw dropped. Clad in a mask and tunic, it was him. "Pork cutlet guy?"

Taking a few steps back into the alleyway, the demon turned to look at him. Or close to him. There was something off about the angle of his mask. It was as if he was looking past him.

"I didn't mean to almost run you over," Hiroshi apologized nervously, and adjusted the cap he wore on his head.

Cars honked their horns as traffic in both directions stopped up.

"I've been wanting to thank you again…" Then, he paused, frowning. "Um, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," the demon replied, taking another step back. "Your gratitude is appreciated. You may leave."

"It just seems like you're not okay. Like you're looking at me but not looking at me."

"Do not concern yourself."

Leaning to the side, he slipped off his bicycle and pushed the kickstand down with his foot. "There's something wrong, isn't there? If there wasn't, you would have ghosted me by now."

"Why does no one listen to me when I tell them not to concern themselves? Does that have some other meaning to humans?"

He chuckled. "It means that you need help." With his hands up in a placating manner, he approached. And as he neared, the mask aligned closer with his position, tracking him. "I'm walking towards you. Please don't throw me across the street."

He sighed. "I will not throw you across the street without good reason."

"Not really reassuring, but all right," he said, swallowing. "It seems like there's something wrong with your eyes. Can you remove your mask?"

The demon hesitated, taking another step back.

"I swear on my life that I would never betray your trust here. I owe you everything. My family owes you everything."

"Your family?"

"We owe you everything."

"I cannot sense who you are. You are asking much of me."

"Then, I swear on my family that you can trust me."

"That is a solemn oath."

"I know."

Snorting softly, the demon shook his head. And then he reached up and clasped his mask. He drew it up and away from his face, revealing blotchy skin. Mucous oozed from his nose and dried tears crusted his cheeks. The sclerae of his squinting eyes were bright red, contrasting with his gold irises and needlelike pupils.

"You really aren't human, are you?" Hiroshi whispered, awestruck.

"I was exposed to a type of miasma by the police. It has blinded my vision and my sense of smell. My hearing appears to be unaffected."

"Sounds like they hit you with tear gas. I don't know much about the symptoms, but it seems like you're having an extreme reaction."

The demon turned his head slightly.

"What?"

"They've realized that I'm no longer in the building. The helicopter is on the move."

"Okay, then you're coming with me. They'll catch you if you stay here."

"I cannot place that burden upon you—"

"What you said right now was just another way of saying that you need help," Hiroshi interrupted as he set his pack down and shrugged out of his coat. He held the coat out to him. "Here put this on. And give me your mask."

Again, he hesitated.

"Look, I'm not doing anything I don't want to do. And honestly, I couldn't live with the shame if I abandoned you here to save myself. You protected us and now I'm protecting you. That's what family does."

The helicopter grew louder.

"I'm not leaving without you."

Giving him a slight nod, the demon accepted the coat and handed him the mask.

"All right," he said, grinning. Unzipping his pack, he stuffed the mask and its trailing headdress inside and closed it up. When he looked back at the demon now wearing his coat, he frowned. "Tuck your tunic tails into your pants." He took off his cap and offered it. "And put this on."

"Is this acceptable?" he asked when he was finished.

"It's the best that we can do," Hiroshi replied, slinging his pack back on and fetching his bicycle. When he returned, he held out his forearm. "Let's go."

A moment passed, and then the demon's hand gently grasped him.

"You know, you're a lot taller than I realized," he remarked as they made their way down the sidewalk.

"That seems to be a common perception."


	29. A Spirit of Hope

Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Spirit of Hope

Wailing sirens passing them by, Hiroshi and the blinded demon slowly made their way down the sidewalk. For much of their journey, they had walked in companionable silence, but when the aroma of pork broth inundated the air, he found a reason to speak again.

"We're almost there," he assured, "We'll flush out your eyes and figure out what to do from there."

The demon nodded.

Soon they approached the ramen stand, its paper lanterns a welcome sight.

"Pops!" Hiroshi called out, using his foot to push down the kickstand on his bicycle before he let it go.

"Hiroshi?!" an older man yelled back and fled from behind the counter to the front of the stand. "Where have you been? I was worried. The police…" His voice dried up, his wide-eyed gaze on the demon.

"Can you excuse all our customers?" he asked quietly, nodding towards his companion. "He needs our help."

His father stood frozen, his eyes transfixed.

"Pops?"

"Yeah," he agreed absently, still captivated.

"Pops!"

"Yeah," he repeated, snapping out of it, "Got it."

Clapping his hands together as if in prayer, he spun around and approached the guests sitting at the counter enjoying their meals. With copious bowing, he ushered them along, comping their orders with every apology. Shrugging into their jackets, they left without complaint, shuffling off into the chaotic night.

His hand leaving the security of Hiroshi's forearm, the demon walked forward. The two men watched him.

"The ramen stand?" he asked as he neared the counter, his head brushing against the cloth banners that hung from the eave.

"Yeah," Hiroshi replied, joining him.

"I recognize the sound of your meal preparations," he said, his head tilting towards the bubbling trays of toppings. "Your tribute was worthy."

"High praise," his father grinned. "Next time you need to try our breaded cutlets."

"Pops…" Hiroshi said tiredly.

"Sorry."

"Can you make sure that no one else comes by for service?"

"Of course."

"Come this way," he said to the demon, letting him follow his voice. "There's a little more privacy in the back. We need to flush out your eyes and probably strip you out of that tunic."

With a nod, he followed, heading around the front counter and to the rear where the noodles were prepped.

Grabbing a pitcher, Hiroshi began to fill it with warm water. "Normally I'd let you sit on a stool, but you're tall enough where I'm not sure I could—"

"The floor is acceptable," he interrupted. "You may take these."

Surprised, he turned to find his coat, the tunic, and a Kevlar vest. Folded neatly and piled on top of each other, they were balanced on the demon's palm and forearm as he held them out to him. Looking past the offered items, he realized that the man was even more intimidating without a shirt. Then he noticed the blotchy rashes that mottled his skin. He had only seen the redness on his face earlier, but in the better light, he could see that it ran down his neck and chest through his abdomen.

"I cannot see where you would like to store these, so you must take them."

"I'm sorry," Hiroshi apologized, and accepted the clothing.

"Would you like me to sit here?"

"Yeah, there's fine," he replied as he set the clothing onto the counter.

Carefully, the demon crouched down to sit on the floor, resting his back against the cabinet doors behind him.

Carrying the pitcher, Hiroshi knelt beside him. "Tilt your head back," he directed, "And look up."

He nodded and did as requested.

Veiled by stoicism and courtesy, he hadn't noticed the pain etched across the demon's face, but now that he was up close, it was all that he could see. In his clenched jaw and gritted teeth. In the tears that seeped from his bloodshot eyes. "Don't worry," he assured. "You'll feel better soon. I've had a little practice, remember?"

A smile hinted at his expression. "I remember."

And the water poured from the spout, flowing generously over his open eyes before cascading down his cheeks and drenching his upper body. Fists clenched, a soft growl rumbled in his chest, and the stream of water quavered as Hiroshi's hand began to tremble. Something primal urged him to run. To flee as if he were alone in a dark forest. And it was everything he could do to not give in to the impulse. Then the water was gone, ending in a trickle.

The growl died.

"I'll get some more water," he said as he shakily rose to his feet.

"Why did you say that I was family earlier?" the demon asked.

"What?" he replied, turning on the faucet. Water streamed into the pitcher.

"When you were convincing me to accompany you earlier. You refused to leave and vowed to protect me as I have protected you. You said it was because we were family."

"We are, in a sense," he said, turning off the faucet. Water brimmed at the rim of the pitcher, and he poured some out. "You changed our lives."

"You drove off those yakuza bastards!" his father piped up, leaning against the plastic shielding on the customer side of the counter. "You shamed them. Humiliated them. Even when the police came, they had nothing to say that wasn't blubbered through sobbing tears." He spat. "For once, they were the beggars, whining about mercy. But also, afraid to reveal why. Those cops never did figure out how a car that overturned halfway down the block ended up back here in front of the stand. Nobody saw anything, especially the driver. They were scared to talk just like we were before. When they were the ones who threatened us."

"Pops…"

"He should know what he means to us. To the people in this neighborhood. To the people in this community. Tokyo, the beautiful and modern city that she is, forgets who built her foundations and still toil there now. The ones who have been brushed aside and forgotten. But the yakuza, they haven't forgotten us. We were their prey, but not anymore."

"Pops…"

"Quiet, Hiroshi," he scolded, then he turned his attention back to the demon, his eyes hard. "There's a reason why they call you The Demon of Namidabashi. Why you're named after a place infamous for barbaric executions and violence. Why you're named after a place where the poor and nameless were tortured for the satisfaction of the rich and powerful. You're our spirit of vengeance."

"Pops, please go watch the front of the stand."

"All right. I'm done." He waved a dismissive hand and disappeared.

With the pitcher in hand, he knelt beside the demon again. "I'm sorry about that."

"Is that what I represent to humanity? A spirit of vengeance?"

Hiroshi gently touched the demon's forehead, and he tilted his head and looked up, ready for the next flush.

"For some, I guess," he explained, and the water flowed, "My father has never had hope before. At least not like this. He grew up here and worked hard to scrape together enough money to start this ramen stand. And when it looked like it might be a success, the yakuza came and demanded their cut. For my entire life, that was the routine. But the day you defended us changed that. The profit that they skimmed every week will make this place debt free in a year. If that happens, then my siblings will have the chance to go to college, and one day, my father will have the chance to retire."

"A spirit who avenges the theft of hope?" he wondered, wincing as the water cleansed. "The one who rectifies it? Is that who I am to you?"

"Maybe."

"I would have accepted that role in the past, but I know now that vengeance is the path of self-destruction. I cannot be that for you. The sacrifice is too great."

"Then maybe it's not the vengeance part that matters," he said, emptying the pitcher. He held it on his lap as he thought. "Maybe it's the _our_ part. What makes you family is that you belong to us. And we belong to you. We're your people and you're not our vengeance but our hope."

"Your hope?"

Climbing to his feet, he headed back to the sink to refill the pitcher. "Yeah, you're our hope."

OOOOOOOOOO

Souta squeezed through the crush of people as they pushed their way onto the train, proving that the courtesy of letting passengers disembark first was a luxury for more civilized times. Narrowly evading the closing doors, he stumbled out onto the crowded station platform and looked around. For so late at night, the place teemed with people, and they exuded a nervous energy that prickled the atmosphere around them. It felt like a desperate need to escape.

Taking advantage of his size, he weaved through the tide of humanity to reach the street outside. And when he made it, he found himself adrift in chaos. Waves of people brushed past him, in a hurry to be anywhere but there. Clogged with traffic, the street itself was at a dead stop with cars bumper-to-bumper, their drivers' faces aglow with smartphone light.

In kind, he retrieved the tablet from his jacket pocket and activated the app. Comparing his position to its map feature, he oriented himself in the direction he wanted to go and slipped the device back into his pocket. Then once again, he fought against the flow as he worked his way down the sidewalk.

Then he froze, pulling the gym bag he carried over his shoulder closer.

Their lights flashing red, police cars crouched next to the curb ahead. Beside them, officers organized as they set up a checkpoint and began to funnel pedestrians through it, comparing them to a fugitive's description. Keeping his head down, he slipped past them, thankful that their attention was on the flow coming towards them.

Somewhere nearby, a helicopter droned.

The crowd thinned as he continued, and soon a wave of savory aromas filled his nose. Exuding a warm and welcoming glow, an old-fashioned ramen stand sat nestled beside the sidewalk. Out front an older man loitered, pacing back and forth absently.

Souta rechecked his tablet and then put it away. This was the place.

"Sorry, kid," the older man said as he approached. "We're closed for the night."

"I have to go over there," he insisted, pointing to the stand.

The man blocked him with his body. "I'm sorry, I can't let you."

Diving to the side, he tried to evade him, but he was faster than he looked and caught him by the arm.

"Let me go!" Souta growled.

"I can't let you go over there, kid."

"He's here!" he yelled, his eyes bright with determination. "I know that he's here. So, let me go. He needs me."

Stunned, the man released him.

Not wasting a moment, Souta slipped past him and ran for the stand.

_He had sworn to Sesshoumaru that if he was in trouble, that he would come and rescue him._

Rounding the front counter, he went inside.

_It was his duty. He was the only one with the responsibility. With the privilege._

And then, he saw him on the floor, the embodiment of misery sitting in a puddle of water. The gym bag fell.

"Souta," Sesshoumaru said softly, and the agony that tightened his expression grew.

Suddenly, Souta's body was rushing forward, not waiting for his mind to catch up. He crushed into the daiyoukai, his arms wrapping around him as he buried his face into his neck. Sobs shuddered his body, causing him to press in even closer and to hold on even tighter. This time he wasn't going to let him go.

Then he felt the warmth of strong arms hugging him in return, and it broke and healed him at the same time.

"You were supposed to be careful," Souta mumbled, his voice as wet as his face.

"I know."

"This was supposed to be a normal night."

"I know."

"I was scared."

"I'm sorry."

His sobs quieted until there was only the occasional sniffle.

"I brought you your bag," he said, his breathing smoothing out.

"You knew about that?" Sesshoumaru asked.

"Of course, I did. You're my brother." He smiled. "And you're terrible at hiding stuff. Worse than me."

He chuckled hoarsely.

"You sound awful and look worse."

"It's evidently called tear gas, and it's very unpleasant."

Getting his feet underneath him, Souta leaned back to look at his face. Tears threatened to flow again as he poured over him, taking in the pain. He kept it down though. He'd cried enough. His gaze gravitated to the unfocused look in his eyes.

Sensing his concern, Sesshoumaru answered the question before it could be asked. "It has blinded me. Temporarily." He nodded towards the young man kneeling beside them. "These kind people have flushed my eyes, but the effects have yet to wear off."

"I was wondering why you were all wet," he said, and then looked at the young man. "Thank you."

"It was our honor." The man replied. "I'm Hiroshi."

"Wait… Is this the pork cutlet ramen place?"

"Yes!" the older man shouted. "You should try our breaded cutlets. They're even better."

Sesshoumaru sat up, letting Souta go. "We should head home. Bring me my bag."

The boy nodded, and he straightened up to stand. Unzipping the bag where it had dropped, he pulled out fresh clothes for him to wear. The daiyoukai was already stripping off his pants when he returned, and he handed him his clothing one item at a time until he had redressed himself. With Hiroshi's help, he packed the soiled costume into the bag.

"Ready?" Souta asked, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

"Yes," Sesshoumaru agreed, and he turned to Hiroshi, nodding a bow. "Thank you."

"Of course," he replied, bowing in return. Then he hesitated. "You mean more to the people here than you think, and in more ways than you know."

He paused, considering him. "Thank you."

"Here," the older man offered, holding out a paper bag filled with ramen orders. "For you both."

Graciously, Souta accepted it. Cradling the takeout in one arm, he reached out for Sesshoumaru's hand, and together they left the stand and disappeared down the sidewalk.

"Pops."

"Yeah?"

"To be a spirit of vengeance. When he said that the sacrifice was too great, he didn't mean for himself, did he?"

His father clasped him on the shoulder, gave him a gentle shake, and then started packing up the steamer trays.


	30. Finding One's Way

Chapter Thirty: Finding One's Way

Freed of the takeout bag that overburdened him, Souta walked beside Sesshoumaru as they headed towards the train station. His hand held gently by the daiyoukai, it was a strange sensation to be the one leading the way, but to seem like the one being led. There was an unexpected power in it, and he found himself enjoying it. Afterall, the one who rescues is the one who's in charge.

"Souta," Sesshoumaru said, squeezing his hand as he interrupted his amusement.

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember when we carried the balance boiler for that man? The one who recycled what others discarded?"

He nodded, "Yeah."

"Do you recall the agreement that I made with you when we followed him? The one where I shared my reasoning for why he deserved it?"

"On what it means to do the right thing?"

"Yes," he agreed, "I wish to make another accord with you."

He hesitated. "Okay."

"I will explain why being this Demon of Namidabashi matters, and if you do not deem it worthy of my support, I will no longer be it."

Souta swallowed. "What do you mean?"

"I'm at an impasse," he admitted with a sigh, "As a guardian to the people of this city, I've chosen to be a crowbar that both builds and breaks. But to be the part that breaks is a heavy burden. It preys upon my weaknesses. The recklessness that wounds my body and worries your heart. And my inclination to give in to retribution and pursue it at the cost of myself and others."

"Oh…"

He waited.

"If you're not it anymore," Souta asked, "Would we still help people? You and me?"

He nodded. "Together, we are the part that builds."

He smiled, uplifted by the honor of being worthy and a bit shamelessly by the possibility that the mask he carried in the bag right now would go away forever. He only needed to say that it was too hard, and it would be over. And with that thought, his smile faded.

"I'll listen, but…" Souta began.

"But?"

"What happens if we come across a problem fixing something, and the answer isn't in the basic guides?"

"What do you mean?"

He shifted the weight of the bag over his shoulder. "Well, we can usually find the answers, right? But what if we come across something that needs to be fixed, but we don't know how to do it?"

"We have the internet."

"But even then. If it's hard to do, are we going to finish it? Or are we going to leave it broken? And if too many things are hard to fix, are we going to stop helping? Stop being the part that builds?"

"Are you asking if we're going to walk away from it?" he offered.

"Yeah."

Letting Souta's hand go, Sesshoumaru rubbed at his chest. And as he did so, one of his shirt buttons came undone, revealing a glimpse of the spider-shaped scar underneath.

"We don't become better at what we do without making the effort," he assured. "And we don't overcome our failures by walking away."

"I just don't want to give up helping people. The way that we do it."

He smiled softly. "We won't. Even if we must work at it every day."

"Okay," he agreed, grinning.

He snorted, amused.

"You can tell me now. About being the demon. I'm ready to hear you out."

"There's no need," Sesshoumaru said, taking his hand again. "I'm no longer conflicted. I cannot overcome a weakness that I'm unwilling to face."

Confused, Souta looked up at him and found him gazing back down at him.

"You can see again?" he asked excitedly.

"Lights and shadows for now," he explained, and then paused thoughtfully, "Thank you… Thank you for helping me find my way."

The warmth of his gratitude puffed up his chest and he nodded. "Of course!"

A helicopter patrolled nearby, its rotors beating the air.

Pulsing red lights reflected across Sesshoumaru's face and his gentle countenance hardened. Other pedestrians pressed in around them, funneling towards the lights, drawn to them like moths to a candle. As they crowded together, their bodies swallowed up Souta, and he let out a whimper. The daiyoukai's hand slipped upward to find his shoulder, and then he pulled him in close. Somewhere up ahead, a man spoke into a megaphone.

"We are currently conducting a security check for this area," he announced, "Please have your identification ready and be prepared for the possibility of having your belongings searched. We apologize for the inconvenience and we appreciate your patience."

"It's the checkpoint," Souta gasped, and he took a step back only to be pushed forward by the mass of people behind them. "We can't go through it. They'll find you."

Sesshoumaru shook his head. "We will go separately. You're not suspicious and they can have me. When you get through, you'll call your mother or Kagome, understand?"

"No…" he whimpered.

"I cannot see well enough to get us out of here without attracting attention to you as well. It's the only way." He squeezed his shoulder. "It'll be all right."

"I don't want to go without you. I was supposed to rescue you."

"I know."

His hand left Souta's shoulder.

"No." He reached out for him and missed.

"I can't believe it. It was _you_ ," a man said to them before they drifted apart, his voice awash with astonishment. "I knew there was something off."

Blinking, Souta looked up.

Dressed in a trench coat and a battered hat, the man smiled at them. His bright gaze flitted back and forth between them before it settled on Sesshoumaru. "How you carried that balance boiler makes so much more sense now."

The daiyoukai's hand found Souta's chest, and he scooped him towards him until he was pressed against his abdomen. "Who are you?"

"A friend." He held up the identification that dangled from the lanyard around his neck.

"You're a cop?" the boy blurted out.

Sesshoumaru held him tighter.

"Look, I know you didn't kill those people at the shipping yard. And over the next few days, the evidence will prove that. Something's going on with the yakuza clans in this city and you're caught up in it. But you're not innocent either and I've got some questions for you. It just pisses me off that these bastards think that they can use the police to take you out."

"What do you want?"

"To pay you back," he said simply, "For saving those girls."

He slipped away, weaving through what remained of the crowd in front of them, leaving behind a wake of grumbling annoyance.

"Oh, detective," an officer greeted him.

"Hey, I've got a special assignment to escort a couple people to the train station," he explained candidly, "They got caught up in that tear gas cannister that bounced into a bunch of onlookers."

"Yeah, no problem. Just take them through."

"Thanks."

Wearing a dopey grin, the detective reappeared. He brushed past them to stand behind Sesshoumaru, and then put his hand midway up his back. "Ready?"

"What are we doing?" the daiyoukai asked.

"Just follow my lead. Don't make eye contact. And give me a little trust."

He frowned. "The number of requests for trust by strangers today has been unacceptably high."

"I'm going to take that as a yes."

With a light shove, the detective pushed against him, and together they plunged forward.

"Excuse us," he announced loudly as people parted from their path, willingly or not. "Police business. Many apologies."

In a moment, they breached the checkpoint itself. Lined up across the sidewalk, several officers stood, comparing IDs to individuals and casually poking through belongings. For the most part, they simply waved people through, their physical descriptions absolving them from any further scrutiny.

"Thank you, officers," the detective said as they passed by, and he gave them a casual salute. "Have a good night and stay safe."

"No problem, sir. And the same to you as well."

With the oppressive tension of the checkpoint behind them, the detective removed his hand from Sesshoumaru's back, and slipped to the side so that he could walk beside them. A constant flow of other pedestrians rushed past them, hustling to the station.

"I still have a lot of questions," he began, picking up his identification holder and flipping it over to reveal a slim pocket. "Ones I'd appreciate some answers for."

"I don't care for owing favors to others without my permission," Sesshoumaru declared, his eyes glowing faintly.

"What I did just now wasn't a favor," he explained, pulling out a business card. "Like I said it was payback for saving that girl from falling at the hotel in San'ya and for finding the missing ones trapped there too. I did it because I like to think of myself as a man of some kind of integrity." He frowned at the glare. "And maybe one that lacks an understanding of self-preservation."

"You know who he is?" Souta asked, still baffled.

"Not really, and that's the point. I don't know who or what you are, and vigilantism isn't exactly legal. My partner thinks that you should be arrested, but me? I'm on the fence. You've got the yakuza shook and that's good in my opinion." He held the card out to them. "My instinct says that you're trying to help, but I can't decide either way without the facts."

Sesshoumaru watched him.

Undaunted, he waited.

Biting his lip, Souta reached out and accepted the card. In hard, black print on white paper, it read _'Inspector Nakagawa Eiji, Detective: Criminal Investigations'_.

"Something's coming and you're at the center of it. I can feel it," Nakagawa said confidently, "If you're standing on the side that makes this city a better and safer place, consider me an ally. If not, well…" He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and gave them a nod. "I'll be seeing you around."

Then he strolled away, disappearing down the sidewalk and into the night.

The rhythmic whipping of the helicopter faded until only the rush of the city could be heard.

Sesshoumaru sighed. "Humans."

Reaching up, Souta felt for the hand that still held him and gave it a squeeze. Gently rubbing his chest in return, the hand then slipped upward to pat him on the head.

"Let's go home," Sesshoumaru said, and they again headed towards the train station.

Souta looked down at the card once more before stuffing it into his jacket pocket. The detective was a weirdo, but the man wanted to believe in them. And most importantly, he wanted to believe in the Demon of Namidabashi.

OOOOOOOOOO

The bag of takeout still on his hip, Sesshoumaru stood in the train car, his body in sync with its physics as it glided over the track. Dimmed for the night service, the fluorescent lighting in the car still proved painfully bright to his abused eyes, so he kept them shut as he listened to the hum of the motor. Despite having spent half the night without his vision and sense of smell, he felt strangely calm. He had tried to contextualize it and found it to be akin to the feeling that he would have if the station announcements failed to transmit over the train speaker. That it wouldn't matter because he still knew where he was and where he was going. That he wasn't lost.

And then on cue, the announcement ping-ponged.

The motor wound down as the train slowed to a stop. He felt Souta's small touch grasp his forearm, and his eyelids cracked open to look at him.

"Our stop," the boy said cheerfully.

Sesshoumaru nodded.

The doors slid open.

Out on the empty station platform with their arms akimbo, Mama and Kagome waited. And beside them, stood Tora.

A sigh of relief escaped Sesshoumaru, catching him off guard.

"Souta!" Mama called out sternly.

The boy shrank back, putting Sesshoumaru between him and his mother's incoming wrath.

"Don't you hide behind him. The Demon of Namidabashi can save a lot of people, but he can't save you from me."

With a gentle hand at his back, the daiyoukai pushed him along until they disembarked. And with a rush, the train sped away down the track.

Mama's glare stayed on Souta as he was marched forward, and then her gaze rose to Sesshoumaru. Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth. "%$#&!"

"Mama!" Kagome scolded until she beheld him as well, "What the %$#& happened to you?!"

He sighed. "Tear gas."

"Can you see?"

"Well enough to get home. Shall we?"

"But—"

"Let's go," he insisted.

She paused, and in her expression, he could see her weighing how much one more word would cost her in this discussion.

Turning on her heel, she faced Souta, "Why did you go without us?"

The boy groaned. "You said that if something happens, make a plan. So, I made a plan."

"Oh, do not blame this on me."

"Sesshoumaru gave me the privilege of stalking him on my tablet because he trusts me. He didn't give it to you. It was my responsibility. Maybe you should ask yourself why you're so untrustworthy?"

A series of offended noises bubbled from her but nothing coherent.

"You still shouldn't have gone without us," Mama said with her arms crossed, "What if something had happened to you?"

He groaned again. "Come on. You let Kagome jump through a well and fight youkai and monsters, but I can't ride the train by myself. This is a double standard."

"What has gotten into you?"

"Evading the cops changed me," he replied sagely, "I think… I think I've finally become a man."

"All right, let's go," Mama ordered, her hand finding his back and she pushed him along, "We are clearly past your bedtime."

"And I haven't even finished my homework yet," he grinned as he walked, his fingers laced behind his head.

"Don't worry. I'm going to let Kagome come up with the illness that I'll tell your teacher about. The one that prevented you from completing your work."

"No!" he gasped.

Kagome giggled maniacally.

As they bickered, Sesshoumaru and Tora fell in a few paces behind them. A record breaking twenty seconds of silence passed.

"I don't know if you realize this," Tora said at length, "But you look like shit."

"Your ability to make astute observations is astounding as per usual," he replied dryly.

He chuckled.

"I assume that my escape was well-documented. How did you fair?"

"Well, it turns out that some of those guys we fought weren't actually unconscious," Tora explained, running his fingers through his fohawk, "You were barely gone when they popped up and started beating the other guys to death. It was a complete shitshow. One caught me across the back, but the body armor you gave me absorbed enough of the blow for me to get away."

"Why did you give me the diversion signal instead of the long, single note to call me back?"

"I would have, but they were using crowbars and the cops were called to the scene before the guys were even dead. They wanted to frame you for murder and either get you killed or captured. I wasn't about to make it easier for them by inviting you back. Plus, you're like a beacon for trouble." He laughed. "And I'm not a fan of being collateral damage."

"You remind me of a flea I once knew."

"I have no idea if that's an insult or not."

He chuckled.

"At any rate," Tora continued, "There was no way that I was going to sneak out on the bike, so I stashed her in one of the cargo containers and hopped the fence into the next lot over. And while you were playing with your yakuza squeaky toy, I flipped my jacket inside-out." With a hand flourish, he drew attention to its blandness. "Because no self-respecting street vigilante would wear a quilted jacket. I'm just saying.

"By the way, I was going to help you out, but then you launched a tear gas cannister into the crowd, so I figured you had it under control. Besides, the family started blowing up my phone, and I came here instead."

"Ah."

"You know, if you checked your phone every so often…"

"How was I in the position to check my phone?" Sesshoumaru asked, giving him a flat look.

Tora frowned thoughtfully. "I can _see_ how that could have been difficult."

"There are times when you make me nostalgic for claws. And acid."

He laughed, and then sobered, toying with the zipper on his jacket. "I'm glad that you made it back. The whole point of me joining you tonight was to help you out in case there was trouble. I was supposed to be there for you, but I wasn't. And now you're all messed up again."

Sesshoumaru laughed under his breath and shook his head. "You weren't the one who failed. I did."

Blinking, Tora looked at him.

"I surrendered to my anger at being deceived and insulted when I should have searched for you. I abandoned you for vengeance. My pride was more important than the wellbeing of a friend."

"Hmm…" he hummed thoughtfully, "But I didn't really want you to find me. So, let me ask you, would you have acted differently if I had called for you?"

"I don't know."

Tora nodded. "Would you act differently now?"

He frowned, thinking. "I'm not certain, but I would like to believe so."

"Overcoming your failures is never easy and neither is becoming the person you were meant to be." He blew out a breath and grinned. "My caseload is pretty full, but I think I can squeeze in a daiyoukai if you want to become one of my kids."

"You couldn't handle the paperwork."

He laughed. "So true!"

He smiled, and then it faded. "Today, a man told me that I represented a spirit of vengeance. That the community perceived me as an avenging force whose role was to right the scales of injustice and inequity. But I cannot fulfill that role, not without great cost as we have seen tonight. Another theorized that I was not vengeance but hope. The embodiment of opportunity returned to the people—"

"Stop," Tora interrupted kindly. "As a hero, a guardian, or whatever you envision your final role to be, it's yours. You can't be all things to all people. And if it's not what some of them want, %$#& 'em. I've spent my whole life being judged by how I look and by how I talk. No matter who gave you the name, you are the Demon of Namidabashi. You decide what that means."

He shook his head and smiled again.

"What?"

"There are times when you remind me so much of him."

"Who? It's not the flea, is it? Because I'm still not sure how I feel about that."

He laughed, and with the inhale, he picked up the scents of asphalt, tree sap, breaded pork cutlets, and less detestable now, the redolence of humanity. It was all back. He had everything he needed to find his way.

"Oh, Akane," Tora groaned as he rubbed his face, "I don't think I'm going to get her back. She's probably on a cargo ship by now or something. Stupid yakuza bastards."

Sesshoumaru raised an eyebrow.

OOOOOOOOOO

A volley of loud knocks banged on the apartment door.

"Yamato!" a grouchy voice yelled from outside. "Yamato, get up!"

Wearing a tank top and an old pair of basketball shorts, a bleary-eyed Tora answered the door with a yawn.

A squat woman of fifty stared up at him, her expression the purest form of limitless contempt.

He blinked slowly. "Good morning, Suzuki-hime."

"You're a disrespectful mess," she spat, reeling from his breath. "Your mother should be ashamed of you."

"Good morning, Suzuki-hime!" he greeted her again, but in an upbeat, sing-song voice.

Scoffing at him, she took a step back. "I don't even know why you're allowed to stay here, you punk."

"Because I have good credit," he grinned.

She grumbled.

"So, why are you honoring me with your grace…" He paused, trying to figure out where the sun was. "This morning?"

"Your bike. I told you not to park it in the courtyard. On the street only."

His eyes brightened, and he leaned out the doorway of his second-story apartment to look down at the courtyard below. Looking no worse for wear, he spied his red sport bike.

"Yes!" he shouted and wrapped his arms around his landlady in an enthusiastic hug. "He brought her back! He owed her one and he brought her back!"

"Let go, you punk bastard!" she managed as he squeezed her and swung her around.

"The Demon of Namidabashi!" he yelled at the sky. "You're my spirit of hope!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter, we've completed this story arc and before we begin the next one, I'm doing a special Q&A chapter featuring a few special guests. If anyone here has read Seven Feudal Fairy Tales, you know what's coming. What I need from you are some questions about this story that you'd like to hear answers for.


	31. Q&A with Three Naked Guys

Chapter Thirty-One: Q&A with Three Naked Guys

Cresting above the distant mountain range, a full moon rose, bathing barren orchards in the throes of late autumn with its pale light. Fields of dead grass and leaves surrounded the trees, as drained of color as they were of life. And through the skeletal branches that ached for the first snow of winter, steam from a hot spring billowed as it met the chill air.

At the source of the steam was a dark pool bordered by smooth hunks of granite. And against one, a fair-skinned figure sat in repose. Long, silvery hair that shimmered faintly under the moonlight flowed around him, the ends curling on the surface of the water. His toned body of corded muscle leaned comfortably against the rock and his head drooped in slumber. Three magenta markings striped his cheeks and through the part of his hair, the crescent moon on his forehead peeked.

"Dog?" a dark and sinister voice called out.

Drool seeped from his parted mouth to drip onto the water.

"Dog?"

A snore caught in his throat and his clawed hand scratched absently at his nose.

"Dog!"

"Ten more years," he mumbled.

A splash of water rose up as a wave and struck him in the face, dousing him.

Sputtering, he sat up, his golden eyes wide open. "I'm up! I'm up!"

The voice growled.

Clearing the water from his face with the sweep of his hands, he looked over to find the source a discontentment. With thick arms crossed against his robust chest, a richly tanned man glared at him with burning red eyes and a permanent scowl. A halo of spiky, red-orange hair cascaded around his head and down his back to sizzle in the water.

The fair-skinned man grinned. "Orochi-san, it's been forever."

"I wish," the man rued.

"Uh, who are you guys?" another voice asked shakily, "What is this?"

Both men peered over to discover a third man. With the rest of his body hidden below the surface of the water, a head crowned with a bright red fohawk stared back at them.

"Tora-san, right?" the fair-skinned one asked, then gestured to himself, "My name is Shiro, and I'm Sesshoumaru's great-great grandsire." He pointed to the menacing figure beside him "And this is Yamata-no-Orochi, the Eight-Forked Serpent and greatest evil of all time. Otherwise known here as the Dragon King."

"That's terrifying," Tora gulped.

"My pleasure," the Dragon King sneered.

"We're originally from Seven Feudal Fairy Tales," Shiro explained, "And as in that story, we have been tasked yet again with answering reader questions."

"And with providing fanservice," the Dragon King spat with disgust.

"So, that's why I'm naked in a hot spring with two strangers?" Tora asked. "For fanservice?"

"Well, we're fanservice. You might be dinner."

"Okay…" he said and inched a little further away in the pool. Then he frowned, his finger rising from beneath the surface to point at Shiro. "Hold on. If you're from another story, then how are you Sesshoumaru's great-great grandsire?"

Shiro frowned, opened his mouth, and then frowned again.

A dried leaf tumbled from a denuded branch above to land on the surface of the pool.

The Dragon King chuckled darkly. "You've broken him. How delightful."

He held up a finger. "I've got it. Parallel worlds. This Sesshoumaru isn't my great-great grandpup, but that doesn't mean that he isn't the great-great grandpup of the Shiro native to this world."

"Wait, does that mean that there is more than one Shiro?"

"It means that there are infinite Shiros," he replied jubilantly.

The Dragon King groaned and rubbed at his temples. "And folklore depicts me as the essence of nightmares."

He cleared his throat. "Shall we get started?"

"Please," he agreed, eyeing Tora with a fanged grin. "Before our dinner gets pruny."

Tora floated a few steps further away.

Reaching back, Shiro felt the top of the rock beside him until he found a piece of paper and an old pair of wire-framed glasses. With a flick of his wrist, the temples flipped open and he put the glasses on.

"We're going to start with story-related questions first," he said as he held the paper out on front of him. "The first one is from Kit and asks, 'What is with the spider on Sesshoumaru's chest in the beginning of the story?' And the answer is that the spider symbolizes many things, but more specifically here, it's the manifestation of what nearly killed him. It's not really a threat anymore and serves mainly as a scar or a brand.

"The next questions are from Purple Rain." He sighed. "Rest in peace, Prince."

The Dragon King rolled his eyes.

"And they ask, 'In reference to the spider, how did Sesshoumaru become infected by Naraku? And what was the point of Sesshoumaru losing 500 years if Naraku still lives or succeeded to be a pest in the modern world? Orochi-san, an answer, please."

"You're correct in guessing that Naraku is involved," the Dragon King explained, "But you will also be relieved that this low rent villain is only a passive actor in this story."

"You sound jealous."

He hmphed.

"The next question is related to the Higurashi family," Shiro said, "And it's from Rayne Alchemist who asks, 'Would therapy be something this family would ever consider going to?' Tora-san, if you would."

"So much of this story is about developing healthy relationships and identities," Tora explained, "And they are a family that has definitely experienced trauma with the loss of a husband and father along with Kagome's trips into the past and how that's affected her and others. There's a lot that they haven't dealt with and they essentially rely on the strong bonds they have with each other to make up for it. Would they consider going to therapy? Sure. Would they have to recognize a need for it first? Absolutely."

Shiro nodded appreciatively. "Maybe we shouldn't eat him."

"We'll see," the Dragon King mused.

"I eat a lot of ramen, so I'm definitely too salty," Tora supplied. "Terrible for your arteries."

He eyed him critically, tapping a black claw against his lips.

"We now have a Kagome-related question from Cyrus559…" Shiro began, frowning, "I'm surprised that there were five hundred and fifty-eight Cyruses before this one. Are there really that many Cyruses? I would think that there would be maybe ten at most."

"Read the question," The Dragon King demanded.

"Fine. Fine. They ask, 'Kagome used her powers to create useful light when in need, will she be able to use her powers just as creatively in other ways if necessary?' And the answer is that she will have more opportunities to apply her powers in different ways, and of course, not necessarily in the manner that they were intended."

"And hopefully they don't involve me running up a stairwell half-blinded," Tora added.

"Ooh," Shiro cooed, "Now we have a few Tora-related questions."

"We don't really need to ask those, do we?"

"If you become lunch, then you won't have to answer them."

"Oh no. That's fine," he quickly amended, "Bring on the questions. I love talking about myself while naked in a hot spring with two guys who are thinking about eating me. I'm living the dream right here." He whimpered. "%$#&, I hope this is a dream."

"The first question is from Violent Entertainment," Shiro announced cheerily.

"I like this one," the Dragon King approved. "The best kind of entertainment is violent."

"They ask, 'Be honest, being known by the police isn't a good thing, but are you at all jealous that the public didn't give you your own cool vigilante name?'"

"What's wrong with my name?" Tora asked woundedly, "It means 'tiger' in Japanese." Then he brightened. "Actually, I'm tackling the whole vigilante name thing like Starlord did. Just keep saying it until it catches on. With my luck, if I left it up to public opinion, they'd call me Punk-Ass Bitch or something. And while accurate, I think I'd rather go by Tora. Besides, tigers are cool." He pointed to the two other men. "But not as cool as dragons or great-great grandsires, am I right?"

"Flattery isn't as tasty as tiger," the Dragon King reminded him.

"I am pretty cool though," Shiro remarked with a smug smile.

He shook his head, disgusted.

"The next question is also from Violent Entertainment and asks, 'Tora, you've been very cool as a cucumber about this whole thing. I'm wondering if you've ever had an "Oh my god, youkai are real?!" breakdown off screen XD.'"

"What does XD mean?"

Shiro shrugged.

Tora sighed.

"Well, answer the question," the Dragon King demanded.

"I think my chill attitude has less to do with the fact that I met a youkai and more to do with the fact that when I met him, he was grievously wounded. Him being indisputably mortal took the edge off the supernatural aspects, like when he throws cars at people or jumps off buildings. Yep, I absolutely didn't go home and scream into my pillow for twenty minutes. Repeatedly."

"Uh-huh."

"And on an unrelated matter, does anyone have a pillow I can use for at least twenty minutes?"

"No."

"And the last question for Tora is from Cyrus559 and asks, 'Why did you choose to name your bike Akane?'"

"This is a tradition for the author on longfics, Tora explained, "Where someone or, in this case, something is named Akane in tribute to Takahashi's series Ranma ½."

"In Seven Feudal Fairy Tales," the Dragon King added, "One of my sons is also named Akane."

"It means 'deep red', so it seemed perfect for the bike."

"There's another possibility," Shiro wondered aloud, stroking his chin. "We don't know your first name. Your father wouldn't happen to turn into a panda when doused in cold water, would he? And you don't happen to transform into a girl under the same conditions?"

"Uh… Are girls less tasty?"

"No, they're much more tasty."

"Then I definitely don't turn into a girl."

The Dragon King looked at him skeptically. "We will spray him with cold water after this and let you all know what happens."

"Moving on," Shiro said happily, "The final questions are about my favorite great-great grandpup himself."

"Why isn't Sesshoumaru here instead of me?" Tora asked. "It's his story."

"I ask but he always says no."

"That's not fair. I didn't even get a chance to say no."

"Yes, but you don't throw cars. At any rate, this question is from Rayne Alchemist, who seems to have a pretty handy profession. And they ask, 'What's one thing Sesshoumaru finds pleasant about this time as compared to the past?' Orochi-san?"

The Dragon King nodded. "The answer to this is the accessibility of knowledge. Before he used to have to walk all the way across Japan to talk to some ancient tree and now, he just looks it up on his phone. He doesn't even have to leave the shrine. He can fully embrace his introversion."

"Introversion?" Shiro asked.

"Yes." He pointed at his own chest "Introvert."

Next, he pointed to Tora. "Extrovert."

Then, he pointed at Shiro. "Pervert."

"Rude," Shiro replied, "Yet accurate."

The Dragon King gave him a self-satisfied smile.

"We have a question from iPod Reader, who seems to be a few years behind the times, and they ask, 'What can Sesshoumaru do for work when he's not playing hero?' And I would say that given he's no longer wedded to nobility or elite pursuits, then he'd likely enjoy doing anything where he can rely on the strength of his own skills and abilities and feel a sense of accomplishment. So, construction work, carpentry, or even being something like a pilot."

"But can you imagine," Tora interrupted, "If he decided to try working at a host club?"

"The best part would be that he wouldn't even serve customers. They would pay for the privilege of serving him."

"He would bankrupt every woman in Tokyo and half the men."

"Or burn the place down," the Dragon King interjected.

"Or both," Tora offered.

"Or both," they agreed.

Shiro nodded. "The next question is from Cyrus559 and asks, 'What does Sesshoumaru think about staying with the Higurashi family and their colorful members?' Tora-san?"

"In the beginning," Tora explained, "He viewed them as humans he was indebted to and once he felt satisfied that he had repaid them, he would have likely departed in search of purpose. Or to become a recluse. Now, they are his clan, and not one he's decided to oversee. He actually defers to Ms. Higurashi for most matters out of respect for her role as the matriarch. And while he's working on curing his tendency towards vengeance, he'd raze the city to the ground if anything ever happened to Souta."

"As he should," the Dragon King approved.

"We have one more question from Cyrus559," Shiro said, "'Will Sesshoumaru ever be able to channel his full strength again?'" He smiled. "I'll answer this. By becoming a man of clear convictions that go beyond himself and by connecting with the people and community that matter to him, he will have the opportunity to be more powerful than he was ever in the past. If he doesn't fail, he will become the best version of himself in every way."

"So proud," Tora agreed.

The Dragon King groaned. "Can we move on?"

"Now for our final question," Shiro said, waving the paper.

"Finally."

"It's from Alerialblu, who I imagine is blue in color. They ask, 'The Sesshoumaru of your story feels real, like a human being with complex emotions but also you took care to remember that he is not from the present. He is a being from a past long gone and his loss is palpable in your story. My question is how did you accomplish that? Did you research about what we feel and how we feel when we've lost our path? Tora-san?"

"The premise of this story," Tora explained, "Started from the position that Sesshoumaru was broken by the tragedy that led him to being sealed five hundred years ago. But there's also the suggestion, as we move forward, that he's always been broken. That he's always struggled with developing relationships with others. The people who are closest to him are followers, not friends, after all they refer to him with deference only. His family is estranged. He struggles with pride, vengeance, and entitlement. And his stoicism masks a numbness where the only emotion he feels comfortable in expressing is anger. There's this very unhealthy masculinity that defines him, and while some of these traits make him attractive and desirable to us, it's not good for him. So, this is a story about him finding his way out from that.

"For research, the author has degrees in psychology and anthropology, but mainly it's storytelling sense. There is a reason why there was originally a ten-year writing gap for the author in between Chapters 10 and 11. The story was waiting for her to find the words to tell it right."

Shiro sighed. "I guess we won't eat you this time."

"Really?"

"You're so saccharine that you'd give me indigestion," the Dragon King groused.

"Yes!" he shouted as he stood up, sending out a spray of water that drenched the other two.

They glared at him, water trickling down their faces.

"Sorry?" he said with an uneasy look and a shrug.

"Dinner may be back on," they agreed.


	32. High Rise

Chapter Thirty-Two: High Rise

Arcing slowly through the sky, the moon waxing gibbous rose, its brilliance further drowning out stars already faded by the haze of city light. In a finer neighborhood near downtown Tokyo, a line of high rises reached towards the sky, their crests overlooking the shimmering bay beyond. So far above the droning city, these were the places where the prestigious lounged like conquerors, their gazes on the beauty of the sea or Mount Fuji. Here they could indulge in ignorance, blind to the vulgar masses who suffered at their foundations. Here they were free. And yet, even in the seclusion of their penthouse apartments, some warlords were not hidden well enough.

A masked figure in white leapt down from the roof above to alight quietly on the balcony below. The bright moonlight shone down on him, casting his long shadow through the sliding glass door. He tested the door handle and found it locked. And as he contemplated forcing it open, he looked to the side and spied another balcony. After another leap, he tried that door and it slid open.

He smiled. With an apartment dozens of stories up, the illusion of security was powerful. And for him, easy to exploit.

In silence, he entered the living room. A blend of traditional and western influences, it was a modern space with a clean, streamlined design. White suede and marble met brushed steel, creating a blank canvas on which colorful Persian rugs and abstract paintings popped.

As he wove through the opulence, two heartbeats thumped in his ears, and when he homed in on the closest one, a man mumbled.

The demon froze, his eyes scanning the room.

His attention settled on the floor before him. There he discovered a man sleeping fitfully, his bald head peeking out from the top of a plush futon.

Taking care to keep his footfalls soft and his shadow to the side, the demon approached him. With a light sniff, he confirmed what he already knew. This was one of the men he had encountered at the shipping yard, and as he considered the scent, he realized that he'd met the man before. A memory of cigar smoke and cheap liquor came to mind. He was the one who had overseen the gambling den he had burnt down months ago and more pieces of his conversation with the white-suited man fell into place.

The man mumbled again and pulled his covers closer.

The demon crouched beside him, and for a moment, he saw someone else. A small, green youkai appeared before him, sprawled comfortably against the side of a two-headed beast. A bubble of snot grew and shrank from his nose as he snored, and within easy reach, lay the tall and awkward staff that he cherished. Jaken had been a loud and easily flustered sort, but he had never known anyone more loyal. He had been so to a fault.

A pang of guilt closed his eyes as he raised his fist and struck the man.

The mumbling stopped, but his breathing was smooth and steady. He would sleep through what was coming next.

Muffled by plaster walls, another heartbeat thumped, its tempo slow but strong.

Rising to his feet, the demon tilted his head as he listened, and then he stealthily crossed the room, heading towards another door. Turning the knob, he opened it. Inside was a spacious bedroom lit by the moonlight that streamed in through the sliding glass door. Beyond it was the first balcony he had happened upon. Half hidden in shadow was a large bed and under its dark, silk sheets, his prey slept.

With the sure stride of a predator, the demon approached, and with matching grace, he leapt onto the end of the bed.

Then, as if some hindbrain terror screamed at him in his sleep, the man started to stir. And when his eyelids cracked open, the silhouette of a nightmare loomed over him, its eyes burning hot.

"%$#&!" he yelled. And then he was in action, scrambling away until his back hit the headboard on his bed. "Hyousuke!"

The air conditioner hummed.

"Hyousuke!"

"He is enjoying some much needed rest," the demon explained, taking a step forward. "And we have unfinished business that I would prefer to conclude without interruption."

The man flew towards the nightstand beside him and yanked the drawer open, revealing a gun. As he grabbed it and brought it to bear on the demon, it was snatched away and crushed. Broken pieces of metal and composite plastic rained down on him. Next, he fumbled for his cellphone. And it too was stolen. Bits of black metal and glass littered his bed.

Sans clothing or weapons, he roared as he lunged for the demon. Like an afterthought, his fist was swatted away, and a hand grabbed him by the face and threw him back down onto the mattress.

"After enduring centuries of oaths made by the desperate," the demon remarked coolly, "I have difficulty remembering the name of every man who has vowed to destroy me. Would you kindly refresh my memory?"

The man glared at him.

He waited.

Growling, he started for him again, and the demon caught him by the throat before he had risen off the mattress. Picking him up, he slammed him against the wall.

"Name!" he demanded.

"Kurosawa Raiden," the man bit out as he tried to pry his vice-like fingers free.

"Your cooperation is appreciated."

Still holding him by his throat, the demon stepped off the bed.

Kurosawa's heels banged onto the floor when he landed. Dragged backwards, his feet flailed desperately as he struggled to get his body under him.

"Your deceit and the insult to my person aside," the demon said, unbothered by the man who thrashed under his grip, "It's your decision to kill eight of your own men that inspires my visit to see you this evening. Normally, I'd expect a host to provide some tea and perhaps a pastry for their guests, but your pathetic efforts here are to my satisfaction." Unhurriedly, he strolled towards the sliding glass door.

"Those guys were traitors," he growled as he clawed at the demon's forearm. "They betrayed the Shikai when they confessed to the police what was happening at the nightclub and the hotel. They were dead men anyway. Why not put their blood to good use? Too bad you didn't join them. We'll see what happens next time."

"The Shikai? Who are the Shikai?"

He replied with a piercing glare and gritted teeth.

"It appears that you require encouragement."

His glowing eyes reflecting in the glass, the demon reached the door and briefly appreciated the breathtaking view of the distant harbor and the field of city lights that spread west from it. Then his hand found the handle, and without considering its lock, he tore the door down its track. Glass shattered, pelting him and his prey with tinkling shards. They spilled from him as he stepped out through the opening and crunched under his boots. Blood smeared the floor behind him as Kurosawa continued to fight, his bare feet scrabbling across the glass.

The demon crossed the balcony to the elegant iron railing, and with an easy effort, he ripped it free from its anchors. The metal whined as he bent it away until there was nothing between him and the sixty story drop below.

His nostrils flaring as he grunted, Kurosawa wrestled frantically against him, yanking on his grip and kicking at his legs. The demon felt none of it as he began lift him up by his throat over the city below. Desperate toes clung to the balcony until it slipped away, and he dangled over the precipice.

"Do not fight too much," the demon warned, "Your feeble strength is nothing to me, but that doesn't mean that I weigh enough counterbalance every idea that might enter your fatuous mind."

Kurosawa scowled at him as his legs stopped flailing to hang limply.

"One more warning," he added, drawing him close to stare at him eye-to-eye, "Don't bore me."

Expletives snarled from Kurosawa and he spat at his face. Saliva splattered across the mask.

As he returned him to arm's length, the demon let out a stiff yawn.

A few fingers loosened from Kurosawa's throat, and he frantically grabbed onto the demon's forearm.

"Fine," he growled. "Fine!"

"You were of the Kuro-Sakura clan before, correct?" the demon asked, his fingers tightening again around his neck.

Against the brace of his grip, he nodded.

"The head of the clan? The father?"

"The oyabun, yes."

"But no longer," the demon deduced, "Because of my disruption to your thievery and brutality, you've lost your clan and your position."

Kurosawa snorted. "Don't think too highly of yourself. At the time, you were simply the excuse that was made to steal what was rightfully mine."

"So, your clan was seized and now you serve another. Who are the Shikai?"

His lip curling, he looked away. "The biggest yakuza clan in Japan."

"Tell me about them."

Kurosawa coughed out a laugh.

The demon's eyes narrowed, and his hand tightened.

The laugh turned into a gasp.

"I don't know anything about them," Kurosawa choked out, "They're secretive. They keep all their business interests in silos and decentralized. Hell, even protection rings from adjacent districts don't know each other's shit."

His grip softened enough to let him get some air.

He gulped it down.

"They're a clan. A family. But they don't trust each other?" the demon asked.

"And that's how they've thrived. You can't betray what you don't know. I'm a regional boss and the only time I've even seen the oyabun was when he was behind a screen. All I get are asshole proxies and that's it."

"Family by blood but not by heart."

Kurosawa chuckled weakly. "Something like that. For now, the sole reason why I've interested the oyabun has to do with you. I'm the only one who's ever had to deal with you." Then his eyes brightened, and another laugh turned coughing fit erupted from him.

"What?"

"For weeks, they made me report to their tower while they fine-tuned their plan. Like I was some lowly serf at their bidding…"

His grip tightened. "Explain."

"No need to threaten. I'll give you this one for free."

He waited.

"The tower is a fortress," Kurosawa explained, his voice growing hoarse. "Security measures are state of the art. And the men who guard it are former military or law enforcement. They're not going to miss like those idiots at the nightclub or the hotel. On top of that, where the oyabun stays at in the tower is a closely guarded secret. But even when you try your best to be unpredictable and mysterious, patterns emerge." He grinned. "Like your patrol route for the city. Made the shipping yard ambush simple to set up. Unfortunate about the execution."

"Make your point."

"The oyabun is strangely devout, and on the days of the full moon, he always leaves to worship at the temple. That ancient one with the massive garden. That bastard Ishida, the oyabun's right-hand man, scheduled an appointment with me on one of those days. And then he left me sitting in the damn conference room all morning. I'm certain that he was the one who took the oyabun to the temple and back for services."

"Why would your lord, who values security, require only one guard to accompany him?"

Kurosawa snorted. "Nothing says 'look here, I'm the oyabun' like a convoy of armored cars. No, it's just the two of them, lowkey and unassuming." He let one hand free from the demon's forearm, and using his thumb, he made a slicing motion across his own throat. "If you want to take the father's head, that's when you should do it."

"Why have you told me all this?" the demon asked, lifting his chin. "Without coercion, you betray your father. Are these more lies and deceit?"

"No," he spat, dripping acid, "I've lost everything because of you both. There's nothing I would enjoy more than watching you murder each other. Even if only one of you dies, I'll call it a good day."

His hand suspending the man over the glittering city below, the demon looked into his eyes, and under the icy blue moonlight, he found only cold hatred glaring back. There was no fear or doubt. Just loathing and a lust for vengeance. They could be sharing some tea in comfort and nothing would be different. He wasn't intimidated. He wanted revenge. If he added a veneer of class and stoicism, he could be looking at his own reflection, trapped in a familiar cycle of selfishness and ruination.

The demon glanced back through the shattered door towards the apartment's living room. "You've not lost everything yet, but if you continue to let your wounded pride guide you, you will."

Kurosawa scoffed. "Save your pity for yourself. I will have vengeance, and I will take back what's mine."

He nodded, and then pivoted to the side as he tossed him back through the opening in the doorway.

Kurosawa bounced across the mattress, and his breath burst from him when he banged into the headboard.

"I erred in my warning to you," the demon amended as he turned to face the bedroom with his back to harbor beyond, "If you continue on this path, you will not be the one who loses everything, but you will be the one branded by it. The one cursed with remembering it." He paused. "Swallow your pride, because it's not a merciful fate to bear."

Then he stepped back off the balcony and disappeared.

Rubbing at his neck as he sat up, Kurosawa glowered at the emptiness where the demon had once been and put his fist through the wall.


	33. Family Meeting

Chapter Thirty-Three: Family Meeting

"Family meeting in fifteen minutes!" Mama's voice rang out, only slightly muffled by the bedroom door.

Startled by the announcement, Kagome dropped her phone mid-text. It thumped softly onto her open composition book, blocking out her messy notes on how to take second derivatives. Sheepishly, she glanced around her room. Well aware that no one could have caught her socializing instead of studying for her calculus final, she felt guilty, nonetheless. Yet between the chain rule and log functions, she was ready for a break.

Reaching for the ceiling, she leaned back and stretched in her chair, a moan escaping her when her shoulders loosened with a pop. The mathematical hoarfrost that encased her mind thawed, and she felt her energy returning. And with it, her hibernating curiosity reawakened. Family meeting?

Abandoning her notes and textbook but not her phone, she bounced up from her seat and headed for her door. When she swung it open, a savory aroma met her and she sighed deeply, breathing it in. A family meeting with seafood curry? She could get used to this.

There was a firm knock at the front door.

"Someone, get that!" Mama called out from the kitchen.

"On it!" Kagome shouted back, and then trotted down the stairs.

When she opened the door, she smiled, "Tora-san!"

"Good evening, Kagome-san," he greeted her.

Still smiling, she shook her head in puzzlement. "Were you looking for Sesshoumaru? We're about to have a family meeting. It shouldn't take too long…"

"Oh, I was invited here," he piped up and then glanced at his smartwatch. "Four thirty. On time."

"You were invited to the family meeting?"

"Uh, I don't know what that is. I was just asked to come by at four thirty."

"But we're about to have a family meeting."

"Maybe I misread the text," he offered and pulled out his phone from his back pocket. "Nope, your mom said to come by at four thirty."

With her brow furrowed, she stared at him, certain that she was missing something.

"Can I come in?" he asked with a worried chuckle.

"Geez, Kagome," Souta sighed behind her, "He's our guest. Let him in."

"Oh, sorry," she apologized. Realizing her rudeness, she stepped back from the door so that he could enter.

"You're worse than that bouncer you were telling us about," Souta added derisively, "Does he also have to pay you five-thousand-yen before you let him in?"

She spun on him. "You've got a smart mouth for a nine-year-old."

"Ten-years old soon," he shouted back at her as he made a wise escape for the living room. Then cheerfully added, "Good evening, Tora-san!"

"Good evening, Souta-chan!" Tora replied with a grin as he pulled off his boots.

She looked at him.

"He got you pretty good," he said, starting to laugh. "By the way, I don't have five thousand yen. Please don't shake me down."

"Everyone's a comedian," she muttered to herself, and then smirked. "How about two thousand?"

His laugh turned nervous.

"Just kidding," she said with a wave. "Come in."

Guiding him as far as the living room, she left him to Souta's care as she walked towards the kitchen. When she stepped through the doorway, she discovered her mother holding a heavy, metal pot over a deep serving dish.

"Oh, Kagome," she said warmly, "You're just in time. Help me pour this into the dish."

She nodded and rushed over. Picking up the spatula, she scooped the curry out as her mother tipped the pot forward until she had scraped it clean.

"It smells so good," she remarked as Mama set the pot back down onto the cooling burner. Gingerly, she slid a finger along the blade of the spatula, scoring a dribble of sauce. She tasted it. "Oh, wow. This is amazing. I mean, your curry is usually great, but this is on another level."

Eagerly, Mama dipped into the pot. With her finger in her mouth, she moaned happily. "You're right! It's even better than I thought it would be."

"Better than you thought it would be?"

"I didn't make it."

"What?"

"Is it satisfactory?" Sesshoumaru asked as he strolled into the kitchen. He headed to the rice cooker and assessed its readiness. The orange light on the appliance glowed, indicating that it was done. Unplugging it, he picked it up, and then looked back at them expectantly.

"It's perfect," Mama praised.

He nodded, pleased. Then he was gone, carrying the rice cooker out to the living room.

"He made it?" Kagome whispered, ignoring the fact that he could hear anything she said no matter how quietly she spoke.

"He insisted," Mama explained as she picked up the serving dish. "He called the meeting and felt that he should make dinner as a token of appreciation."

"He called the meeting?"

She nodded, and then frowned. "I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you earlier. You were so busy studying for your finals this afternoon that I wanted to leave you be."

"Don't worry. I'll be done with them tomorrow, and then it's summer break."

She smiled. "You deserve it."

Picking up a tray piled high with bowls and utensils, Kagome nodded towards the doorway. "Shall we?"

Together, they headed for the living room, and when they arrived, they found the rest of the family already seated around the table. Grandpa sat at the end in a place of honor and beside him was Souta, forming a buffer between him and Tora. A chorus of exaltation burst from the group when the serving platter was set before them. A chunky curry, it was thick with shellfish, shrimp, octopus, and vegetables in a copper-colored sauce. With Mama taking her spot at the other end of the table, Kagome sat beside Sesshoumaru. The cooker's lid popped open with a plume of steam and the fragrant scent of rice mixed with the spiciness of the curry. One by one, Mama filled the bowls and passed them down the table. And once everyone had their serving, a word of gratitude was shared, and they began to eat.

"Normally, it's annoying how good you are at everything," Tora mumbled through a stuffed mouth, "But anytime you want to cook in the future, I'll be there."

Murmurs of agreement rippled around the table.

"Is this your recipe, mama?" Kagome asked as she dug into a mussel. "It seems different."

"You mean better?" Mama joked.

"You said it. Not me."

She chuckled. "No, this is all Sesshoumaru."

"Wait," she said, and turned to him, "There's not a Basic Guide for cooking, is there?"

"It was very informative," he replied as he picked through his bowl, seeking morsels of octopus. "Both in the selection and preparation of ingredients."

"Oh, you'd be really good at the selection part," she admitted, tapping her nose with her fingertip.

Mama laughed. "Well, you weren't the one who went with him to the fish market. Half the vendors won't look me in the eye anymore."

"Their offerings did not meet acceptable standards," he explained. "I merely informed them of that fact."

"The amount of disdain you can pack into a look and a few choice words will always be impressive."

He nodded, accepting the compliment.

Soon, the euphoria of sated appetites enveloped the group as they lounged and sipped tea. On the table between them, the serving dish sat empty of curry, much like every bowl that had been begrudgingly collected and placed within it.

"I know that any of us can call a family meeting, but this is a first for you," Kagome said, giving Sesshoumaru a sidelong look. "Definitely not complaining. Just curious."

"There's a matter that I wish to discuss," he replied, and then nodded towards the jumble of dinnerware. "This meal that I prepared was a measure of my gratitude for your support. As a man without a title, lands, or a people, none of you were obligated to aid me in this new world, and yet you have with grace and patience. As hosts you have served me, and I in turn, wished to serve you."

He paused, searching for the words.

They waited.

"It's with this meal that I no longer regard myself a guest in this home with you as my hosts. You are my family. And this is where I belong."

Smiles spread between them, and as they glanced at each other, they turned into grins.

Grandpa chuckled softly. "Don't tell my daughter this, but I've always wanted a son. I just didn't know that the one I would get would be hundreds of years older than me. Still, I'm not picky."

"Does this mean that you're going to cook more often?" Kagome asked.

"If that is desired," Sesshoumaru offered.

"Oh, it's desired," Souta interjected, and then gave his mother a sheepish look. "Sorry, mama."

"Oh, my ego can take the hit if it means more of this," she admitted as she took a sip of tea. Her gaze shifted back to Sesshoumaru and she smiled. "It's one thing for us to tell you that you're part of our family and it's another for you to return that sentiment and see us the same way. We're honored."

He nodded.

"Higurashi Sesshoumaru," Grandpa said thoughtfully. "Makes it official."

"I don't know," Tora replied with a mischievous grin, "Maybe he wants to be a Yamato."

Grandpa growled.

Mama chuckled.

"And now for the matter that I wished to discuss," Sesshoumaru interrupted.

"That wasn't it?" Tora asked, raising his eyebrows. "That was a pretty big matter."

"No, that was simply the preface. An acknowledgement that was long overdue and the reason why a family meeting is the best setting for what comes next because the result will affect all of you."

Their expressions sobered and they nodded for him to continue.

"When I followed up on the incident at the shipping yard, I learned about the new yakuza clan that has assumed control of organized crime in Tokyo. They're called the Shikai and they wield an immense amount of influence."

"I've never heard of them," Tora commented, frowning.

"They're very secretive and have been quietly absorbing their weaker rivals, like Kuro-Sakura, to become the most powerful clan in Japan. Yet despite their efforts to conceal their operations, I have learned information about their oyabun's schedule, and perhaps with it the opportunity to confront him."

"How did you come by this information?" Mama asked.

"I met with a man by the name of Kurosawa Raiden."

Tora choked on his tea. "Kuro-Sakura's oyabun?"

"Former oyabun," Sesshoumaru corrected. "He's now a regional boss for their organization. His clan is no more."

"Wow..." Then he blinked. "And he just told you?"

"He was persuaded."

"Ah."

"During our conversation, he provided me with some details. Firstly, a description of their headquarters. From it, I was able to locate a heavily guarded tower in downtown Tokyo. I'm certain that it's their base of operations."

Souta climbed to his feet and left the room.

"Are you going to siege the tower?" Tora asked worriedly.

"No, they are too well-fortified and knowledge about the oyabun's whereabouts is kept hidden from even senior leadership. It would be difficult to locate him let alone isolate him." He paused. "And the personal risk would be too great."

The thread of underlying tension around the table snapped with a few sighs of relief.

"So, was that the opportunity to confront the oyabun?" Mama asked.

"No, knowledge about the tower was only essential in determining its location. The most important information was the sharing of a predictable aspect of the oyabun's schedule. Every morning on the day of the full moon, he and his first lieutenant travel for services to a nearby temple known for its gardens. They do this without an entourage so as not to attract attention and thus protect the oyabun's privacy."

"So, you plan to confront him at the temple?"

"You cannot confront him there," Grandpa said sternly, his voice trembling. "A temple is a holy place and should not be defiled by violence."

Sesshoumaru nodded. "I agree. In the past, I would not have considered it inappropriate to wage battle in places of human worship. But after spending time here, I have decided that they are worthy of respect."

With his tablet in hand, Souta reappeared. He approached Sesshoumaru and held it out for him to take. The map feature was open on the screen. "At least we can figure out where everything is, right?"

He accepted the device and typed in an address. A red icon popped up on the screen in the financial district of downtown Tokyo. After saving the marker, he typed in _'Buddhist temple'_ for the area and several options populated. Both Souta and Kagome leaned in close to him as they considered the results.

"I bet you that it's Inokashira Temple," Kagome concluded, selecting one of the icons. "They're pretty famous for their gardens."

Souta nodded.

"Maybe you can confront him while he's en route to either location?" she offered. "He'd still be vulnerable, and you wouldn't have to worry about guards or sullying any holy places."

"That was my intention," Sesshoumaru replied. "But the strategy used to confront the oyabun wasn't what I was interested in discussing today. It requires attention but not in this setting."

"Oh?"

"You want advice on what to do when you find him," Mama said, nodding thoughtfully.

"Precisely," he agreed.

"May I see the tablet?" Tora asked, already reaching across the table.

Sesshoumaru handed it to him.

"Well, what are the options?" Mama asked. "It seems like the goal is ridding the city of organized crime, right? Or at least in the districts that you protect."

"Yes. And dismantling the clan would appear to be the most effective method in ceasing their activities, but would that happen if the oyabun was captured? Or if he was turned over to the police?"

"Or if he was killed," Souta said under his breath.

"That's not possible. I will not be a spirit of vengeance. It serves no one and breeds resentment."

"Not to mention," Mama added, "There are no assurances that someone new within the organization wouldn't take his place. The son becomes the father or something to that effect."

"That's also assuming that the transition of power is smooth. As you noted months ago, there was considerable violence in the streets when the Kuro-Sakura clan underwent leadership change. We shouldn't expect anything less to occur."

"So, you'll have to persuade the oyabun," Grandpa concluded as he finished his cup of tea. "To dismantle his clan or to leave Tokyo. You're not one to cajole, so you may have to resort to threats and violence no matter how you feel about being associated with vengeance."

"A show of strength," he said, and then frowned. "To have a regional boss betray his allegiance to his oyabun so eagerly… A pack only reacts like this when its leader doesn't provide support. And when he doesn't care about them, then what chance does its prey have? For this leader, I must go for his neck, but that doesn't mean I must rip it out. So, I will isolate and trap him. And then we will agree to terms."

"Collaborate, not conquer?" Mama asked with a smile.

"These are softer times."

"Well, from my understanding of retribution, it's about righteousness and not negotiation. No matter how the community might perceive you, this will not be an act of vengeance. It will be something better. It'll be advocacy."

"Advocacy with a crowbar," Kagome joked.

"My crowbar is the encouragement," he elaborated.

They chuckled.

"I appreciate your input," he said as he looked around the table and met their eyes. "It's a constant source of direction and support. You have my gratitude."

"Oh, we're not done," Tora said as he rose to his knees to lean over the table. He set the tablet down between Sesshoumaru and Kagome. "I searched through all the possible routes they could take between the tower and the temple." He pointed to a zigzagging line highlighted in yellow. "And this one has the fewest traffic lights. I would bet you Akane that this is the way they take."

"Why would traffic lights be a factor?" Kagome asked.

"They're opportunities for an ambush." He grinned. "Being cautious also makes you predictable. Your enemies just have to know what to look for."

Sesshoumaru snorted. "I have been told as much recently."

Tora's finger hovered over an intersection bisected by the route. "And this is where we should strike. Recognize it?"

Both Sesshoumaru and Kagome nodded.

"It's someplace that they know, but they won't realize that we've been there as well." He minimized the window and opened up the weather app. "The next full moon is this Sunday. No one's going to be there. It'll be the perfect spot for your negotiation."

"This is a proactive and not a reactive situation," Sesshoumaru explained. "Neither of you must risk yourselves for this."

"Yeah, yeah, pack leader," Tora sighed, waving a hand dismissively, "You handle ambushes with the same amount of finesse that I wield with a hammer. If we do this together, we'll be quicker and quieter. And you'll have all the time you need to have your chat. Deal?"

Sesshoumaru eyed them both.

They looked back at him, grinning.

He sighed. "Deal."


	34. The Shrine Bell

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Shrine Bell

Enveloped by the warmth of the early summer evening, Kagome stepped out the front door and into the shrine courtyard. The late setting sun shined gold behind the feathery treetops that peppered the western escarpment, and through them, she glimpsed the first hints of yellow and orange along the horizon.

At the crest of the stairs that led down into the city, she spied her mother and Tora. A smile crept up on her as she watched them chat, which broadened into a grin when they shared a chaste kiss before he waved goodbye. There was something adorable about their budding courtship. Her mother, whose wisdom and confidence ran so deep that they might be endless, was awkward and unsure for the first time that she could remember. It had been one thing to flirt and another to want more than that.

Kagome lingered, watching her fidget and pace, no doubt overthinking everything. For many children, parents lose their perfect luster in the times when they fail or disappoint. But not her mother. Her humanity peeked through here in a nervous chuckle or the shy wave she gave him in reply. It was in the moments when she decided to go outside her comfort zone and do something for herself.

Kagome sighed happily. If she was enjoying anything, it was seeing her unflappable mother feeling the summer breeze a bit.

And speaking of unflappable.

In the long shadows cast by the trees, she spied Sesshoumaru crouching in front of the new steps that led up to the shrine bell platform. A yellow level sat before him on one of the steps, and he watched as the bubble centered between the two lines. Satisfied, he placed it on the next step and then each one after that, checking to make sure they were all level. She approached him.

"It looks good," she complimented, her gaze poring over the youthful blonde of the fresh lumber, "Are you going to stain it soon?"

"It requires time," he explained, picking up his level, "The wood is still green, and the water must leech out before a stain will hold."

"May I?" she asked, glancing back and forth between him and the steps.

As he rose to his feet, he gave her a shrug and moved out of the way.

With zeal, she bounded up them. But as she climbed from the first step to the last, she left behind a trail of gray footprints. If she hadn't spun around at the top, she would have missed his fleeting frown.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, biting her lip.

"Do not concern yourself," he replied. "It was expected. Your grandfather's safety is more important than perfection. Your footprints are merely the first of many until it can be stained and sealed."

Her eyes fell to the trail. The set of stairs had twice as many steps than it had before, and they were broader too. Then she was drawn to what was wholly new and she placed her hands on the railings that ran along each side.

"He's very proud of this place," she admitted, her gaze broadening from Sesshoumaru to the shrine around them. "And his role here."

"It's his purpose. Preserving that is our duty to him. Whether it's at his request or not."

She smiled softly, reminded of a memory when a bundled stack of yen sat heavy in her pocket. "Do you remember the last time we talked out here. You were ringing the bell because he had an errand to do and I had found your duffel bag filled with gambling winnings."

He looked at her expectantly.

"We talked about how you struggled with asking for help and with understanding what it meant to be a part of our family." She chuckled. "And now you're calling family meetings and making dinner. I know that I've said that you're not the same person that I thought I knew from the Sengoku Jidai, but there are times when you're not even the same person that I knew a few months ago. You've changed so much."

"I read a quote recently," he said, slipping the level into its pouch on his toolbelt. "No man is an island entire of itself, every man is a piece of a continent, a part of the main. It has been my hardest lesson to understand that. As you said then, my greatest weakness is relying only on myself." He gave her his best aristocratic sneer. "However, I can transform any weakness into a strength."

She laughed. "That's definitely the daiyoukai that I know."

He gave her the slightest smirk.

Her amusement turned thoughtful. "There was something else I asked you that day too. It came from a place of insecurity, but I think that it was still a valid question."

He arched an eyebrow.

"Are you happy?"

The warmth of his expression cooled, becoming inscrutable as he considered her question.

The breeze picked up and the leaves of the trees rustled above them.

"I don't know," he replied at length. "Old and familiar, I've felt anger and disappointment in brief moments of rashness and vengeance. But it is the numbness that remains."

Sadness tightened in her chest. "Was it from being sealed? From being trapped in the deep or however you described it?"

He sighed, thinking. "No, the more that I dwell on it, the more I realize that the numbness is far more ancient than the seal that bound me. It has always been there. Even in my youth, to be unguarded when it came to emotions was an invitation for rejection. Only anger was permissible, or disappointment veiled as such."

"It's not right," she said, her jaw tight. "To force you into numbness. Into this state of depression."

He snorted. "There's much about human culture that doesn't seem right to me, but I accept it as an approach that works for your kind. The ways of daiyoukai nobility are no different. And there's no point in lambasting that which is already extinct."

"I guess."

His hand slipped down to retrieve the crowbar that hung from his toolbelt.

"For many years I believed that I was entitled to the sword, Tessaiga," he said looking back at her, his body turned in mid-pivot, "Yet what I genuinely envied about Inuyasha was his freedom to be crass. To express every emotion without a filter. It's a willingness to be exposed and vulnerable that I will never be comfortable with, but he was at least able to feel without limitations. If you were to ask him if he was happy, what would he say?"

Blinking, she stared at him, surprised by his question and the steadiness of his gaze as he awaited her reply.

"I don't know," she began and then chuckled wistfully. "He'd tell me that it was a dumb question. We'd probably argue over his attitude for a few minutes, but then he'd say yes. Not because he'd think that it was what I wanted to hear, but because it was true."

He nodded, then turned away, heading for the old set of stairs that lay beside the platform. Mostly intact, they had been pried free and set aside as he installed the new stairs, but now that he was done, it was time for them to be broken down.

Levering the hook end of the crowbar under the plank of the first step, he yanked on it. It split along the seam of the grain where old rusted nails had made it weak. He tugged at each splintering piece, tearing them apart and tossing them aside into a pile.

Quietly, she watched him, her mind dwelling on the two brothers. Inuyasha, who would have simply ripped the old stairs apart with his hands, and his brother, who was every bit his better in terms of strength but preferred the refinement of a tool. The crass versus the aristocratic. The hanyou versus the daiyoukai. And how humanity had intersected their lives in such different ways, forcing them to reconsider their perspectives and change. Perhaps it was time for her to do the same.

"What does it mean to be a daiyoukai?" she asked, taking a seat on one of the platform steps. "I remember your explanation about entitlement being determined by intelligence and personal power. Is that all it takes to be a daiyoukai?"

With the hook of his crowbar lodged under another board, he paused and looked back at her, his expression puzzled.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "All this talk about aristocratic youkai customs has just made me curious." She grinned. "And besides it's only fair that you have to answer a few of my questions after all the random ones you've asked me about humanity over the past year."

He snorted. "There are times when it's certain that you are your mother's daughter."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I have mentioned titles and lands in the past," he explained, yanking on the crowbar to pull the board apart, "Our concept of possessing land was less like human ownership of property and more akin to how animals patrol territory. Many species may possess territories that overlap the same area, creating an ecosystem. In my time, different daiyoukai patrolled the same territory and their duty was to preserve balance in that area."

"So, you worked together."

"To an extent. Social stratification, and the status it confers, is inevitable. In your human parlance, our deference to one another was determined by where we were in the food chain. I, as a predator, was in a privileged position at the apex."

"So, ranking was based on who preyed upon who?"

"Which would vary depending upon the ecosystem," he replied, hooking another board.

Nodding, she climbed to her feet. "Did that perspective expand beyond daiyoukai? Is that how everyone was seen? Throughout the ecosystem?"

He paused and furrowed an eyebrow.

She thumped down the steps until she reached the first one. "Animals."

Her eyes still on him, she hopped up to the next step. "Humans."

Another hop. "Hanyous."

Then. "Youkai."

And lastly. "Daiyoukai."

In silence, he watched her, and she started to fidget uncomfortably under his gaze.

"I'm sure that I'm oversimplifying it," she added. "But that's how it always felt, especially the prejudice. The disgust for humans. The destruction of their villages."

His attention returned to his work and he jerked the crowbar up, ripping a chunk of wood free.

"Where…" he asked, tossing it into the pile, "Where do shrine priestesses fit?"

"What do you mean?"

"Allow me to clarify. Setting aside ecological complexities for the sake of this exercise, you have outlined the caste order for the world we once shared with reasonable accuracy. Each step preys upon what embodies the steps below it. So, I ask, as a shrine priestess, what did you prey upon?"

"Animals?" she offered.

"Ah," he replied, "Those were animals that you turned to dust with your purification arrows."

"I was protecting people, humans and youkai, when I used my powers," she argued. "I only ate animals."

"And your youkai exterminator ally? The one who weaponized the bodies of the youkai she had slain. Was that an act of preying? Or was that protecting too?"

"She was protecting people," she said adamantly, then her sureness started to falter. "I mean, it was mostly humans. She wouldn't have killed youkai if they hadn't attacked humans."

"Your food chain," he explained, prying away another piece of wood, "Is based on a perspective: your personal definition of predator and prey. As a predator, I consider shrine priestesses ones as well. You participated in the hunt and employed the power of the heavens to strike your prey down. That you didn't eat them doesn't preclude you from being their hunter. Those who are of the heavens prey upon those who are of the earth."

Frowning, she sat back down on the stairs and rested her chin on her palm. "I hadn't thought about it that way."

"As you stated, this stratification that you've observed is an oversimplification, but more importantly, it's a matter of perspective. Earlier, you mentioned personal power. You possess it. Just as I possess a shadow of the youki that I once wielded."

"So, as a human, I moved from the bottom to the top when I became a priestess?"

"You had the innate talent," he said, parting the last step from the stairs, "And when you were transported to the Sengoku Jidai, you were given the opportunity."

"When you put it that way, then it doesn't sound too different from how society is stratified now, if you remember when we talked about personal power or youki being the equivalent of money. Those with money have more influence and power and they prey upon those who have less. They feed on what little they have and then leave them with nothing."

"Stratification exists," he said, angling the crowbar at a joint that formed the support for the old stairs. The bolts whined as he pried it apart, and when it came free, the planks of wood collapsed into a heap. "Gradations of power and influence, when we think about them only in terms of predators and prey, then tearing them apart seems righteous. But if we consider the steps to be access to opportunity, then it becomes something grayer. Perhaps even acceptable."

"What do you mean?"

"The man who owns the ramen stand. He's satisfied with the step that he sits upon. What he needs is for that step to be stable and broad so that he doesn't slip from it. And what he desires is for his children to have the opportunity to climb to higher steps if they so choose."

Her gaze went past him to the pile of splintered wood that had once been a set of stairs, and then it focused on the new set that she sat upon. She studied their broadness and the easier gradation in height between steps. But perhaps most importantly, she considered the railings that lent support on both sides.

"I think I get what you're saying," she said.

"I don't know the shape of it yet, but I believe that this dynamic is my future. My true purpose. Just as this shrine is your grandfather's purpose."

He sighed and she could hear the steeling of his resolve.

"I squandered my first lordship on entitlement and vengeance," he continued. "This time, I will do it right."

"And you won't be an island," she added warmly. "You'll have help."

His eyes turned to the setting sun and he nodded.


	35. The Chase

Chapter Thirty-Five: The Chase

The gray dawn spread slowly across the eastern sky, dispelling the magic of the city at night. Transitioning from lights to concrete, stately skyscrapers emerged, monuments to the wealth that saturated Marunouchi, Tokyo's financial district. Yet as the buildings transformed with the warmth of the early morning, the black tower remained untouched, absorbing the light into its void.

Across the street in a vacant office, a figure in white watched, his attention fixed on the porte-cochere at the tower's entrance. There a dark sedan idled, its plume of exhaust curling over the asphalt before dissipating into the crisp air.

Sesshoumaru's pocket began to vibrate, and he reached into it to retrieve his cellphone. He tapped the green icon.

"Everything's set up and ready to go," Kagome reported, her voice echoing. "There's no one here like we expected."

"Good," he replied, his eyes still on the sedan.

"We're going to go get into position now and await your signal."

He continued to watch. "Thank you."

Staticky whispers crackled over the connection, and as his thumb moved towards the red icon, she sighed into the speaker.

He frowned and his attention fell from the tower to his phone. "Speak your concern."

"I just want us to be sure," she blurted out before settling into a ramble, "That this is the car. I mean, I trust that this is the right place. You investigated it, but what if that yakuza guy was lying to you? And what if—"

"I will not give the signal unless I'm certain," he assured.

"Yes, but if it's a decision based on faulty or misleading information, then it won't matter if you're certain. We threw this plan together pretty quickly. Ishida isn't an unusual family name. If we have the wrong one—"

"Your concern is valid," he interrupted, keeping any weariness from his tone, "However, there is only one Ishida listed under the property's corporate ownership. We will act if he is present. If he's uninvolved, it's highly unlikely that he would be here this early on a Sunday morning."

"I just… I just don't want to attack anyone who's not involved, especially if they're innocent when it comes to supporting the yakuza." She hesitated. "I trust your reasoning and your instinct. I just need to know that things won't be like they were the last time we worked together. Or like they were with Tora at the shipping yard. That you're here in the moment with us. That we're a team."

He closed his eyes, feeling a twinge of shame in his chest. "You are not wrong to desire proof. I have waxed poetic about understanding what it means to be part of a family, but I have yet to show it in battle. Assurances unproven by action are nothing more than theories. However, oaths have value, and I vow that I will protect you and Tora, both physically and morally."

"And yourself? Will you vow to protect yourself?"

The tinted glass doors of the tower's lobby slid open and two figures emerged.

"Sesshoumaru?"

Dressed in a dark, tailored suit, the first man strode confidently towards the car. Sesshoumaru minimized the phone call feature and selected his photo library. A corporate headshot of Ishida filled his screen. The man was a match.

"Sesshoumaru?"

"Prepare yourselves," he ordered, his eyes narrowing on the figure hidden behind Ishida and then he scowled at the unfortunate angle, "Two people are on the move and one of them is Ishida. The other is likely the oyabun."

Ishida approached the sedan and opened the rear passenger-side door.

"They're entering the vehicle…" he reported, then his words trailed off as he felt a strange tingling at the back of his neck. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Reaching under his headdress, he discovered a layer of perspiration dampening his skin.

Iridescent eyes watched him from the shadows of a tree line.

He spun around, searching for the enemy and was met by the plaster walls of an empty office. No trees and no eyes. Nothing worthy of the tension that tightened every muscle is his body and drove him to repeatedly scent the air. The mundane was all that he found. He glanced down to discover that one of his hands had retrieved his crowbar while the other had unfastened the latch on the window.

"Sesshoumaru?"

"Yes?" he replied with a voice carrying an edge he hadn't expected.

"What's going on?" she asked worriedly. "What happened to the car?"

The presence was gone, and he felt his body slow down, returning to its usual sureness. Turning back to the tower, he scanned the porte-cochere for the sedan and spotted it pulling out onto the street.

"The vehicle is heading eastbound according to the route that we expected," he explained, pushing the window open before leaping out onto the ledge. "Get into position. Time to intercept will be between five and seven minutes."

"But—"

"On it," Tora replied over the speaker, "We'll be ready. Good luck."

Hitting the red icon, Sesshoumaru slipped the cellphone into his pocket. Glancing back, he searched the office one last time, unable to shake the disquiet. The sensation of glowing eyes watching him. An unseen enemy crouching in the undergrowth.

Then he was gone, sprinting along the ledge in pursuit of the car.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Something's wrong," Kagome said, frowning. With her helmet's visor flipped up, she perched on the back of a glossy red motorcycle, a compound bow in her hand and a quiver of arrows slung across her back. "You heard it too, didn't you?"

Wearing a black helmet bristling with a red mohawk, Tora straddled the seat in front of her, his eyes scanning oncoming traffic. Beneath them, the motorcycle hummed eagerly, ready to fly from the secluded alley at the first sight of the sedan.

"I don't know," he replied, his tone lacking his usual affability, "But this isn't the time to choke. Or to second guess. We have our jobs, and we really will fail if we don't do them."

"You don't have to worry. I'm not going to fail. I've already proven that I can handle a bow."

"I know, and it was amazing. But this is about believing in a cause, not just about rescuing Amaya. And most importantly, this is about believing in a person."

She stared at the back of his helmet. "What do you mean?"

"Just like Sesshoumaru has to prove himself with action, you also need to prove that you believe in him and in what we're doing. Not just in words shared at a dinner table but here too. Because you can be a master in any skill and still turn failure into a self-fulfilling prophesy if all that you express is doubt."

A pack of cars flew past, none of them a sedan.

"I get what you're saying," she said, her jaw tight. "And I'll prove myself. I believe in what we're doing. And I believe in him."

He nodded.

A dark spot appeared at the distant curve of the street, growing larger as it cruised towards them. Amorphous lines solidified into the familiar contours of a sedan, the same make and model as the ones that had been parked in front of the besieged hotel months ago.

"Here we go," he sang softly, and then he peered back at her, his opaque visor reflecting her steely gaze, "Ready?"

Seeing her determination as he saw it, galvanized her further, and she nodded. "Ready."

The rush of tires sailing over asphalt grew louder as the sedan approached, and with a whoosh, it passed them.

Leaning forward, Tora added throttle and shifted into gear, and the impatient motorcycle jetted out of the alley, giving chase. As the pitch of its buzzing engine climbed, he shifted into the next gear, adding power as they quickly closed the distance. Ahead of them, the sedan continued cruising, unaware or unperturbed as they came up behind it.

Letting the right handlebar go, he raised two gloved fingers and then pointed them towards it as if aiming a gun. He scythed the bike to the left and moved in close to the bumper. With her thighs and pelvis braced against his back, Kagome stood up and brought her bow to bear on the car. Reaching back with her free hand, she pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it.

Red lights flashed, and the sedan braked hard, swerving towards them.

Downshifting, the motorcycle strafed right, crossing back with its front tire nearly kissing the bumper.

"Gotcha," she whispered as they slid beside the sedan's right fender, and she loosed the arrow.

With a loud pop, it collided with the sidewall of the front tire, piercing it through. Air burst out through the hole, followed by rhythmic slapping as the tire went flat.

She grabbed the collar of his vest as they fell back, narrowly avoiding the sedan's unsteady weaving as it bore to the right. After giving him a pat on the shoulder, she retrieved another arrow from her quiver, and the bike surged forward again.

The arrow flew, puncturing the right rear tire.

The sedan careened wildly to the right, and the bike braked, dodging it as it bounced off the curb. With her knees bent and a hand gripping his vest, she held on as they kept close, watching it struggle to recover.

Finding the lane again, the sedan barreled forward, its front wheels angled to the left. Rims sparking, it blasted through a red light, leaving a cacophony of honking horns and screeching tires in its wake. Slipping and weaving through the stopped and spun out cars, the motorcycle sped after it.

Raising three fingers on his left hand, Tora pointed and Kagome let him go to pull another arrow.

Fear tightened in her chest and she tried to swallow it down. If they were wrong, she wasn't sure if she could forgive herself. Setting her jaw, she nocked the arrow. Believe in them. Believe in him.

Aiming diagonally through the rear driver-side window, she imagined the path of the arrow exiting through the right side of the windshield. Then, she let it loose. It struck sure before ricocheting away, leaving behind a perfect ring of distorted glass.

Relief shuddered through her. Bullet resistant. Just as they had expected. This was the right car.

In rapid succession, she launched a volley of arrows, each one striking the driver's window before bouncing off. Reflected in the side mirror, she could see the driver's flinching tension as each one hit, causing him to veer frantically across the lanes.

The flat tires. The arrows aimed at his head. The primal fear of being hunted and unable to escape. Strip away the gilding of expensive watches and tailored suits and anyone can be prey. Too distracted by the predator nipping at their heels to notice the one about to go for their throat.

The sedan shot through another red light and as it crossed the intersection, a car sailed through the air and into its path, rolling as it smashed into the ground.

Tires screamed as the sedan hit its brakes, sending it fishtailing to the right. It skidded down the street and slammed sideways into the wrecked car, and together, they slid to a stop in front of the K-Lin Lounge. Through the spider-webbed fractures of the sedan's windshield lay the entrance to the parking structure across the street. And with a sputtering engine, it limped for it.

As quietly as its highly tuned motor would permit, the motorcycle slipped away to park beside a pedestrian egress in an adjacent alleyway.

As Kagome pulled off her helmet, she could hear the shrill cry of wheel rims echoing inside the structure as the sedan climbed. Then a constant thwap joined in, louder than a flat tire.

"I think they found the spike strip," Tora chuckled as he shed his helmet and pulled up his snarling tiger mask, concealing half his face. "That car is done."

The tempo of the noise slowed down until there was only the struggling idle of a battered engine.

"We did it," she said, adjusting her mask and hood into place.

"Team effort," he replied, and nodded his head towards her in acknowledgement, "I wasn't sure how your archery skills were going to play out while riding on my back, but that was %$#&ing badass."

She laughed. "Actually, that part was easy. If we had added some jumps, then it would have been even more nostalgic."

"I'm not sure if I want to know." He thumbed towards the stairwell entrance to the parking structure. "Shall we before Sesshoumaru has all the fun?"

Together, they hustled up the first flight until they reached the second level and followed the sound of the hobbled car. Glossy pavement reflected the morning light, and stark against the white concrete that surrounded them, she spotted the dark sedan. Through the shattered windshield, she could see the driver glaring at them, his hands still gripping the steering wheel.

In costume and halfway between them, Sesshoumaru waited, his eyes fixed on the car. He held up a staying hand, and both Kagome and Tora stopped.

"Something's wrong," she whispered as a strange mixture of comfort and dread pulsed through her.

Tora staggered back, panting as he felt for his chest. "What is this? What's going on?"

The driver's door creaked opened and Ishida slid out, a smug look replacing his previous glare. Smoothly, he walked around the car until he reached the rear passenger-side door. Lifting its handle, he swung it open as he glided to the side and bowed reverently.

A pair of satin pumps stepped out as a dark-skinned woman in an immaculate white suit emerged.

"Run," Sesshoumaru commanded as he put his body between them and the woman. "Run now!"


	36. Sacrifice

Chapter Thirty-Six: Sacrifice

With her bow gripped tight, Kagome braced herself as another surge of power buffeted against her body. Like an ocean wave, it curled and roiled, testing her strength before flowing around her, defeated. His wheezing gasps punctuating the air, she could hear Tora struggling against it, his resistance eroding with every pulse.

"Are you all right?" she asked, not sparing him a look.

"Y-Yeah," he rasped, mucous catching in his throat. "I'm… I'm okay."

She nodded. He was still standing and that was good enough for now.

With her eyes pinned on the mysterious woman, she cautiously lowered her guard enough to absorb a splash of the next wave. And with it, a sensation like awe coursed down her spine and radiated through every nerve. It seized her lungs. Her vision turned white at the edges and gravity pulled her down until she remembered to breathe again. Yet, amid the crushing power, there was serenity. The tickle of lush grass under bare feet. Dazzling sunlight filtering through a forest canopy. A rushing stream overflowing with snowmelt. And threaded through this tranquility was a familiarity that she couldn't quite place. It was almost like kinship.

Her heels echoing, the woman strolled around the car, her gaze fixed upon the demon. Behind her, Ishida followed, his attention only on her. She began to clap slowly.

"Excellent work," she praised with a smooth and commanding voice as she tousled the long braids that flowed around her. "If this was an attempt to impress me, the oyabun of the Shikai Clan, then you have succeeded. Your planning and execution were impeccable. You even worried poor Ishida here."

He scowled.

"But I doubt that you're seeking gainful employment," she remarked, and her dark irises lit up, burning with an iridescence akin to mother-of-pearl. Reaching up, she began to remove the diamond studs from her ears, handing each one to Ishida who placed them neatly into a velvet box before pocketing it.

"She must be a youkai," Tora whispered.

Kagome chanced a glance in his direction. His skin glistened with sweat where it could be seen, and his mask was sopping wet.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Her eyes," he explained, and then nodded towards the demon. "They glow like his do, except that his are gold."

"What?"

"You've never seen his eyes glow? At the nightclub or in the videos online."

"I was drugged up in the nightclub, and I only watched one of the videos. In either case, I didn't notice. It's not normal, at least not how you're describing it. Maybe red when he transformed but never like this. Never just the iris. And never gold."

She turned to the demon. Tension rippled through him in pace with the waves. Like Tora, he was barely resisting it.

Without turning his body, he spied back at them, and through the crescent of his mask, a blazing, gold eye watched her.

She gasped.

"I'm no youkai," the oyabun corrected as she shed her blazer, revealing a soft green, sleeveless blouse. Under the streaming morning light, her toned arms reflected a prismatic pattern of tessellated spots. And as she walked, they shimmered, disappearing and reappearing as the light moved across her beautiful, brown skin. She paused in her step and slipped out of her heels, leaving them behind for Ishida to gather up.

With his mane flaring behind him, the demon was in motion. Lunging forward, he caught her by the throat. And then with savage ferocity, he picked her up and threw her down through the hood of the car with a terrible crunch. The radiator bled and metal whined as he ripped her out of the jagged crater and flung her into a pillar with a thundering crack.

The parking structure shuddered.

Chunks of concrete clattered around her as she hung embedded in the pillar.

The promise of violence moved through every joint and muscle as he strode towards her. Reaching back, he retrieved the crowbar from his sash. And as he passed, his eye again met Kagome. It still burned like molten metal but in it she saw something else. Something she never would have expected.

Desperation.

His order earlier for them to run wasn't a command. It was a plea.

A blur of white, he leapt towards the oyabun, raising the crowbar for his strike. And as it came down on her head, she caught it. For a breath, they remained locked together, his body trembling from the effort. Then with a smirk, she bent the crowbar in half and ripped it away. It rang across the pavement as she tossed it aside.

"How are you feeling, Oya-sama?" Ishida called out with her blazer laid over his forearm and her heels in his hand.

"Delighted," she replied coolly as she poured herself out of the shattered pillar. "It's been decades since I've had a little fun. World War II at least."

Taking a sideways stance, the demon stepped back, his eyes fixed on her as he awaited her move.

Dispassionately, she dusted the concrete debris from her shoulders and shook out her tattered blouse. The loss of a button revealed a glimpse of her chest, and at its center lay the scar of a spider.

"She has the spider too," Kagome whispered. "Just like him."

The oyabun scoffed and her indifference soured into a sneer. "Bearing the sign of the curse doesn't make me something as plebeian as a youkai, child."

"We know," the demon interjected, his nose wrinkling with disgust. "You're worse. You're _a_ hanyou. A half-breed. An abomination."

What disdain her expression held evaporated, replaced by a fury that darkened her face and brightened her eyes. The pulsing waves of power that rolled off her slowed and then reversed, flowing back into her body. The energy swirled around her chest, tugging at her blouse and braids. And as she braced herself, she took a deep breath.

With his knees bent, he waited, sweat dripping from his chin.

Blindingly brilliant, a stream of opalescent fire burst from her mouth. It splashed over the pavement, vaporizing it with its heat and turning the edges into white-hot slurry.

With the tail of his tunic half singed away, he dodged to the side before rushing towards her. Channeling the momentum of his sprint, he threw his body into a punch. It cracked her across the face and the fire sputtered out as she went cartwheeling through the air. She struck the far wall with a deafening boom, sending fissures and cracks radiating from her impact.

The parking structure whined, and shards of concrete began to fall.

He turned back towards Kagome. "Run."

But before she could respond, a silhouette appeared behind him.

Catching her widening stare, he spun around, his fist pulled back for another punch. But as he launched into it, the oyabun swept his strike aside with her forearm and landed her own blow to his side. His breath burst from him as he stumbled back.

"Sesshoumaru!" Kagome cried out, taking a step towards him.

"Run," he rasped.

Behind her, she heard a scuffling thump. And as she turned, she discovered Tora crumpled on the ground. With his mask around his chin, he gasped for air as he fumbled at the straps of his vest, frantic to shed it. Dropping her bow, she rushed to kneel beside him. Placing her hands upon his bare face, she poured power into him, letting him sip of her divine resilience.

'Run?' she thought as she rubbed his cheeks slick with sweat. 'Even if Tora was fine and they were able to escape, how would they outrun her? She was unlike any hanyou she'd ever met. Unlike any hanyou…' Her eyes fell to her bow and her jaw went tight. 'She was a hanyou, wasn't she?'

Wheezing with every inhale, Sesshoumaru felt at his ribs.

The oyabun glared at him. There wasn't a mark on her. Not even a bead of sweat to dampen her skin.

With his fists clenched, he hurled himself at her. In a flurry of motion, he unleashed a barrage of strikes, the force of them rippling the air. And with each one, she dipped and dodged or swept them aside, unfazed by his strength and ferocity. And as he threw himself into his last punch, she caught his fist, and with a casual twist, his wrist snapped.

Snarling, he tried to pull away, but she held him fast. Then quicker than the eye could follow, she pinned his arm behind his back. And with her free hand, she seized him by the nape of his neck and planted him face first into the pavement. Again and again, she pounded him into it, splintering the ground with fresh fractures after every blow. Desperately, he clawed at her wrist and pried at her fingers, but each effort proved weaker than the last until his hand fell limply at his side.

As she lifted him up, his headdress and mask crumbled away, revealing his face. Blood oozed from his mouth and dislocated nose. Releasing his broken arm so that she could grasp him by the jaw, she turned his head so that she could stare into the dark sockets of his half-closed eyes.

"You would call me an abomination?" she spat. "You're nothing but a husk wearing the skin of a daiyoukai. Where's your youki, demon?" A vortex of power churned around her chest and a glow swelled in her throat. "Allow me to end your miserable existence and ensure that this time your kind's extinction is final."

An arrow engulfed in a blazing beam of pink light flew, and with preternatural speed, she caught it before it could drive into her neck.

"Get purified, bitch!" Kagome snapped with another arrow ready.

With a thwip, it shot towards the oyabun, burning with godly power. Sesshoumaru struck the ground in a lifeless heap as she snatched it up before it could pierce her heart. Both arrows pulsed in her hands, flaring brighter and brighter.

With a third arrow at the ready, Kagome waited, anger, and soon unease, etching her brow. That they had failed to burn her was far less unsettling than what was happening now.

Slowly, the light turned from pink to opalescent.

"It doesn't make any sense," Kagome said in disbelief as the light drained from the arrows to envelop the woman. "You're a hanyou. Half youkai and half human. You shouldn't have this kind of power."

The oyabun smiled as she tossed the dull arrows away. "Just like a human to believe that the other half of a hanyou must be one of them."

"What? What do you mean? A hanyou is…"

The light swelled around her, changing shape as it grew. With every pulse, the prismatic image solidified like a constellation of stars, revealing a scaled beast. Impatiently, it stamped the ground with cloven hooves and swished its lion's tail. And at the center of its maned head, a single, antlered horn curled back gently.

"It-It can't be…" Kagome stuttered.

With a final burst of light, the aura shattered into a shower of pearly embers that scattered across the ground before winking out. Smiling, the oyabun stared at her, and from across the street, The K-Lin Lounge sign glowed.

"You're a kirin," she gasped.

"Qilin, really," the oyabun replied, "My mother was from the mainland, but considering how long I've lived on these insignificant islands, I'm more Japanese than anyone." She glanced down at the broken daiyoukai and sneered. "Well, almost anyone."

"Kirins are supposed to be good and righteous. They're supposed to protect the weak and the innocent."

"Strange words from a priestess who defends a demon." She lifted her bare foot and planted it on his skull. "I'll cure you of that fault right now."

"No," she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. She loosed the next arrow.

And without any effort, the oyabun swatted it away.

"Why?" Kagome begged. "Why are you doing this?"

Her eyes narrowed and an unexpected anguish shadowed her expression. "Because everyone is nothing but a disappointment. And so, they can all burn."

A warm hand clasped Kagome by the shoulder, and when she looked over, she discovered Tora by her side. With his mask back in place, he breathed like a man fresh from a marathon, but his eyes were bright and clear.

Without a word, he asked, 'What's the plan?'

Frantically, she scanned their surroundings, hoping to find a solution. But everywhere she looked, all she found was fracturing concrete groaning under the weight of the levels above. Then she stopped and her expression hardened. She knew what she had to do, and she knew how far she'd have to take it.

"Remember me in the hotel stairwell?" she asked him.

He nodded.

"Your role this time is Akane."

With an eyebrow furrowed, he gave her a sidelong look until realization struck him. "Got it."

Rocking Sesshoumaru's head back and forth with her foot, the oyabun watched them, smirking.

Swallowing at the lump in her throat, Kagome pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it. Power streamed through her until the arrowhead sparkled pink.

"Really, child?" she said coolly. "Again?"

Taking aim at her chest, she drew the bowstring back, ready to fire. "Again."

Then her aim panned to the left and she released the arrow. A brilliant comet of light, it pierced Ishida through the thigh. Yelling in shock as much as in pain, he collapsed onto the ground, grasping at the wound as a fountain of blood spurted from it.

In a flash, the oyabun was at his side, red splattering her white slacks.

With his feet stumbling, Tora ran towards Sesshoumaru. When he reached him, he fell to his knees and turned his body over. Grabbing him under his shoulders, he started dragging him backwards, heading for the stairwell.

Snarling with rage, she spun around to face them, murder in her eyes.

"I wouldn't," Kagome interrupted, unable to quell the tremble in her voice. "I nicked your lieutenant's femoral artery. You have minutes if not seconds before he bleeds out. Maybe between your power and the closest hospital, you could save him. Or you could let him die right now as you take your revenge. Your choice. Really."

"I'll kill you all," she vowed as she scooped Ishida up.

"Probably. But not today."

"Don't be so certain, child."

With Ishida's head nestled against her chest, the oyabun loped towards the half wall closest to the main street. And when she reached it, she crouched down, gathering her strength. Chips of concrete rattled across the pavement. Then with a shuddering boom, she shot through the gap, cratering the ground behind her.

A thundering groan echoed throughout the parking structure as fractures grew and deepened.

"Damn it!" Kagome cursed, and she sprinted for Tora as he struggled to drag Sesshoumaru's dead weight.

"Help me flip him over," he managed through gasping breaths. "Then you get under one arm and I'll get under the other, okay?"

She nodded.

Together, they turned him over and put their shoulders under his. Bracing themselves, they climbed to their feet and began their fumbling walk towards the stairwell. Then the ground slid sideways.

"The building's collapsing," he shouted as he tripped over an upturned slab of concrete.

Around them, massive chunks of pavement separated and tumbled downward, colliding with each other as they disappeared below.

"We're going to make it," she swore, her feet slipping as the ground shifted. "We're so close."

Then a chunk of falling concrete struck Tora's head, sending him to his knees, senseless.

"Tora!" she cried out as she buckled under Sesshoumaru's weight. "Tora, get up!"

The sunlit sanctuary of the stairwell started to slip away as the ground caved.

"Tora!"

Then she felt the weight leave her shoulders. A hand grasped her by the vest and hoisted her into the air, and the concrete coffin that threatened to swallow her up fell away. The strange sensation of flight overwhelmed her, suddenly ending as she hit the top step in the stairwell. In a daze, she looked up in time to see a blur of red and black sailing towards her. With a grunt, Tora's body struck her in the chest, and as a tangled heap, they collided with the stairwell wall.

And when she pushed his limp body aside, she spotted a battered Sesshoumaru standing where they had been, an apology in his eyes as three levels of concrete rubble crushed down on him.


	37. Requiem for the Lost, Part One

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Requiem for the Lost, Part One

Pale yellow along the eastern horizon, the first rays of the summertime morning warmed the night sky. As its soft light grew brighter, it revealed thickly forested mountains and valleys patterned with rice paddies. Thick and gray, fog settled upon the low-lying places, foretelling the arrival of another hot and humid day.

Along the border between a field gilded with ripe grass and the tangle of an overgrown wood, a daiyoukai in white and red refinement strolled. Lagging behind him, another youkai followed. Small in stature, he hurried to keep pace, his birdlike feet a flurry of motion.

"Sesshoumaru-sama," he called out as he shrugged under the weight of the two-headed staff he shouldered. "Sesshoumaru-sama."

The daiyoukai paused in his step and turned to eye him coolly.

"If it would please you," Jaken began as he wiped away the tiny beads of sweat that dotted his green brow, "Could we take a moment to enjoy this beautiful sunrise."

He continued to stare at him.

"I-I understand that you are busy with matters related to your lordship, but after dedicating the entire night to constant journeying, a man of your importance deserves a brief respite so that you may behold the glory of your lands."

One of his delicate eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm tired and I would appreciate a short break."

He snorted. "And with this meandering conversation, you have received it." Turning to face forward, he started to walk again, his pace a step quicker than before.

"Sesshoumaru-sama," Jaken implored, his voice carrying a keening pitch. "I apologize for misleading you. Sesshoumaru-sama!—"

His next salvo of fawning pleas ended in a surprised squawk as he collided with the back of a leather boot. As he landed on his rump, he peered up, catching Sesshoumaru's head in profile.

With his attention focused on the dark recesses of the wood, the daiyoukai scented the air and frowned.

"Sesshoumaru-sama?"

Without a reply, he headed into the tree line. Slashing at the undergrowth with glowing claws of youki, he cleared the way. Behind him, Jaken followed, mumbling nervously as he clambered over the shredded vegetation. And when they reached a shady glade, Sesshoumaru dispelled his power with a flick of his fingers and entered it. Thick layers of leaves crunched under his boots.

"Sesshoumaru-sama?" Jaken called out again as he waded chest deep into the leaf litter. "What's going on—" Then he gasped.

Under the dappled light of the rising sun, a winding pile of crystal glinted lavender. With Sesshoumaru taking the lead, they approached the strange formation until the angles of it facets revealed its origin.

"It's a centipede youkai," Jaken noted in a whisper as he grasped for the daiyoukai's pantleg.

Sesshoumaru nodded, his eyes following the rectangular segments of its carapace until he discovered the humanoid upper body at its anterior end.

Jaken swallowed, unable to look away from the petrified agony that distorted its face. "It didn't die well."

With a light inhale, Sesshoumaru scented the air. Ignoring the clinging decay of the forest floor, he picked up the stink of vomit and blood which drew his attention to the splintered trees and overturned soil that bordered the glade. Indeed, it had not been a good death. But beyond that, there was nothing else of note. There was no evidence of predatory youki or divine purification.

"It's the same color as the Shikon-no-Tama," Jaken said, venturing a few steps beyond his lord's shadow. "When it was pure at least."

Sesshoumaru frowned and pored through the scents again. The profiles of every enemy that he had ever faced were etched into memory, especially Naraku's, and none of them were present. Even the range of odors that he had encountered during his yearlong crusade against the hanyou were absent. "A coincidence perhaps."

Turning on his heel, he headed back for the path that he had carved to the creature's grave. Rustling through the leaves, Jaken hustled after him in pursuit.

Midmorning arrived as they emerged from the wood. Under the sun's radiance, the creeping fog had burnt away, revealing gently sloping hills. Bearing right, Sesshoumaru continued his route along the tree line, his pace a few steps slower than before. Behind him came an obliviously loud sigh of relief, one that drew a smirk from his lips. His amusement though didn't last long.

Screeching cries echoed through the valley, and in the distance, a cloud of dust stirred.

Swirls of youki billowed around Sesshoumaru's boots, whipping at his clothes and his long, silver hair. Jaken made a dash that ended with an awkward leap, grabbing onto the fur of his lord's trailing pelt just as he took flight.

In a blur of green and gold, the fields and forests sped by as they sailed over the valley. Beneath them, a village slipped past, its people already barricaded from sight. And when they approached the final rise, Sesshoumaru alighted nimbly onto a rutted road, his whirling youki dispersing into nothingness.

"What is it, Sesshoumaru-sama?" Jaken asked as he slid clumsily from his pelt.

In reply, Sesshoumaru began to walk up the road as it curved towards the crest of the hill. With the heads of his staff bobbing along, Jaken followed.

When they reached the summit, they discovered a thinly wooded dell stretching out below them. Jumbled tracks of overturned earth had stripped away but a few patches of grass, and the cause of the ruin writhed nearby. Like landed fish, the sinuous bodies of serpent-like youkai flailed, lost to the throes of impending death. As they rolled and thrashed, their ventral sides flashed outward, revealing the scar of a spider, its long legs squeezing their chests.

"Naraku," Jaken gasped as he pointed towards one creature's scar. "A mark just like his proxies once bore."

With a soft sniff, Sesshoumaru tested the air and discovered no sign of his former enemy. And beyond that, he couldn't sense any trace of corruption or purification. The area was devoid of menacing youki or divine threats. Instead, there were only the natural precursors of death, matters so mundane that they were hardly worthy of passing attention.

Swept aside by the youkai tracks, shattered chunks of lavender crystal ringed the dell.

On a gust of youki, Sesshoumaru glided down for a closer look. Plucking a fragment from a bank of soil, he noted a pattern of scales etched on one side. It was then that he realized one scent was strangely absent, decay.

"Sesshoumaru-sama!" Jaken called out as he scrambled down the hill. "What is it?"

"Serpentine youkai are succumbing to some kind of petrification," he replied as he tossed the fragment back onto the ground.

"So, it wasn't just the one then?" he said thoughtfully. "Does that mean that we're going to investigate it further to determine why?"

A deep bellow shattered the air. A series of footfalls thundered, each one shuddering the ground. The pale green of a bloated body, a massive ogre entered the dell, felling trees as it lumbered through. A hail of screeching erupted from a crippled youkai as it snatched it up, and then with a casual chomp, it bit off its head. As it snapped up the rest of the creature, it took a seat. Surrounded by a defenseless feast, it soon began stuffing its maw, gorging itself happily. Across its chest, the scar of a spider loomed.

Jaken took a few steps back, his expression soured by revulsion.

But as the ogre reached for another wriggling youkai, it froze. A red glow burned in its eyes as it stared down at Sesshoumaru. Then the light faded, and it continued its meal.

Sesshoumaru turned away, heading back up the hill.

"Are we going to investigate?" Jaken asked.

"I once slaughtered a thousand serpentine youkai as a simple display of Bakusaiga's power," he replied. "Even the thousands that Naraku consumed over the decades have hardly culled their numbers. I doubt that this will have much of an impact either."

"But the ogre is affected too—"

Sesshoumaru spied down at him from over his shoulder. "Where the weak succumb, the strong will thrive. That's the natural order of things. That these vulgar creatures are too feeble to defend themselves against a threat that stinks neither of corruption nor purification is not my concern."

"Yes, Sesshoumaru-sama," Jaken replied.

The grass parting as he passed, Sesshoumaru continued up the slope.

Regarding the dell one last time, Jaken watched the glutinous ogre sate its appetite.

"Jaken."

"On my way, Sesshoumaru-sama." Then he hurried up the hill, following in his lord's footsteps.

OOOOOOOOOO

Through a sky turning amber on a midsummer's evening, Sesshoumaru soared above like an ancient god in transit. His hair and clothes billowed around him, caught in swirling vortices of youki. Lost in the deep plush of his pelt, Jaken held onto a tuft of fur with one hand and kept his staff in a vicelike grip with the other.

As they descended to glide over the treetops, a free flow of sputtered anxiety poured from him. Long accustomed to his mutterings, Sesshoumaru ignored him, his gaze on the break in the forest ahead. In a breath, the trees disappeared, replaced by the geometry of water-locked rice paddies. His shadow fluttered below him, falling onto rows of young plants and the farmers who tended them. Despite his status as a daiyoukai, the people of this village paid him no mind, an attitude he discovered that he preferred, more so than deference or fear.

The scattered structures of the village itself soon approached, and the churning youki that kept him aloft slowed. He alighted near the outskirts on the slope of a gentle hill. And with a flick of his pelt, he dumped a gibbering Jaken onto the ground, a place the small youkai was immediately thankful for.

"Do you still have the gifts?" Sesshoumaru asked as he ran his claws through his hair, detangling it after the blustery flight.

Jaken picked himself up out of the grass and slipped his hand into the sleeve of his coat. After searching for a moment, he produced a fine, ivory-handled brush and a small mirror framed in silver.

Satisfied, Sesshoumaru nodded. By his aristocratic standards, they were rather plain, but Jaken had proven to be a better judge of Rin's tastes than he.

"I think she will be very pleased with them, my lord," Jaken remarked as if reading his mind. "If you would sense where she's at, I will go fetch her."

He nodded. As tolerant as this village was, he favored brief visits that kept opportunities for encounters with a certain hanyou at a minimum. But when he sampled the air to isolate her scent, he frowned.

"Is she nearby?"

"No," he said, sniffing a second time to be certain, "What scent of hers that remains is old and faded. She hasn't resided here for weeks." Anger warmed in his chest and his jaw tightened.

"Perhaps she's summering somewhere else given the warm weather," Jaken stammered. "I will go ask so that we may be on our way."

"None of Inuyasha's entourage are present. Not even the elderly priestess that serves as her guardian."

"Then I'll ask one of the villagers," he offered. "They might know or at the very least, they might have a clue."

The evening breeze shifted, tugging at their clothes.

"You need not bother," Sesshoumaru said, and he turned on his heel to face a nearby copse of trees.

Clothed in firerat fur, a young man emerged from the tree line, his unruly mane of white hair swaying behind him as he approached.

"Sesshoumaru," Inuyasha greeted with a voice as coarse as granite. "It's been a while."

The daiyoukai's eyes narrowed. "Where's Rin?"

He sighed, brushing his bangs upward to wipe the sweat from his brow.

"You should have notified me before changing her residence."

"I'm sorry about that," he apologized. "Everything's been happening so quickly, and we needed all the help that we could get. I was coming back here for supplies when I caught your scent." He paused, working his jaw. "Have you heard about the infection that's wiping out youkai?"

"I don't see what that has to do with Rin."

An unexpected nervousness radiated from the hanyou, and he started to pace through the knee-high grass. "It's spreading. More and more of our kind are getting sick. And transforming into stone."

"Our kind?"

He gave him a withering look "You know what I mean. Anyone with youkai blood."

Sesshoumaru scoffed and looked away.

"We've gathered at Midoriko's Cave near the abandoned taijiya stronghold. There's something about the place that seems to slow the infection down. Gives us a little more time. Rin's there, tending to the sick, if that's what matters. But I was hoping…"

With cool dispassion, his gaze returned to the hanyou, watching him as he walked up to an old, dry well and stared down into its depths.

"But I was hoping that you might help us," Inuyasha confessed, his hand tracing the woodgrain of the boards that framed the well. He took a deep breath and added in a whisper. "You're smarter than any of us. Or at the very least, you have an easier time figuring this kind of shit out. We might have a chance if you join us. But only then."

The breeze picked up again, rippling through the grass.

Sesshoumaru snorted. "Where the weak succumb, the strong thrive. This curse, or infection as you put it, is a natural culling. It's not worthy of my time or talent."

Inuyasha spun around, snarling with anger. "I can't believe that someone like you is considered a youkai lord."

"What?" he replied, scowling.

"All you care about is what's yours or what you think you deserve. And your pride." He scoffed and crossed his arms against his chest. "If something doesn't affect you personally, then you don't care and that's it."

He glared at him.

"You know, Rin and Kohaku speak so highly of you," he continued, leaning against the well. "Kohaku especially likes to talk about the time when you were perfecting Tenseiga's Meido Zengetsuha. When you entered the underworld to save Rin at the risk of your own life. As if in that moment you learned compassion. But it's not really compassion befitting a lord if it only extends to those that you deem worthy." He nodded towards Jaken and the gifts he cradled. "If one human matters more to you than thousands of youkai. Maybe even an entire world of youkai."

His silence continued.

"Do you hear me? Youkai are dying," Inuyasha growled, his gold eyes glowing with an impossible brightness, especially under the summertime sun.

"It's not my concern."

"Then what does it mean to be a youkai lord, huh? Aren't lords supposed to protect? Aren't they supposed to be guardians?"

"You bore me."

He scoffed and shook his head. "I don't know why I'm surprised. I thought maybe with everything that happened with Naraku that you had changed. That maybe you cared now. But you don't. Not unless it's personal."

Silence.

"Fine," Inuyasha spat angrily, and he undid the ties of his coat, opening it wide to reveal his chest. Across his tanned skin lay a scar shaped like a spider. "I don't know which half of me you care about, if any, but if I've got it despite our father's blood, it's gonna get you too. I hope that's personal enough for you."

Sesshoumaru sneered. "Where the weak succumb, the strong thrive. What did you expect from daiyoukai blood diluted by your feeble human half?"

Redoing the ties of his coat, he chuckled bitterly. "It's not a real conversation between us if you don't level some kind of insult at my human half." He sighed. "It's strange. You know who thought asking you for help would work? Not Rin or Kohaku. It was Kagome. She really believes in you. More than anyone else. Maybe more than she believes in me. To be honest though, I don't see it. You're a youkai lord in name and that's it. And we don't have time for you to realize that there's more to being a guardian than that."

"Jaken," he said, his expression an inscrutable mask, "We're leaving."

"Yes, Sesshoumaru-sama."

Turning away, he headed down the slope of the hill.

"Jaken," Inuyasha called out.

The small youkai looked up at him, worry tiring his features.

"Talk to him, please. Maybe you can get it through his thick skull… before it's too late."

Rubbing at his chest, he looked to the western horizon and the setting sun. Then he nodded before dutifully following his lord into the coming night.


	38. Requiem for the Lost, Part Two

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Requiem for the Lost, Part Two

Glittering upon the infinite black, the galactic cloud above dusted the midnight sky with flecks of silver, the only source of light in a land cast in shadow. Along the crestline of a distant mountain range, a halo of cool light glowed, promising the imminent arrival of the moon.

And as the waxing crescent peeked, its soft radiance shone down, illuminating a mountain meadow still lush despite the heat of late summer. Sprays of lavender peppered the grassy field, its herbal scent inundating the air. As he entered the meadow, Sesshoumaru breathed it in, enjoying the fragrance's purity in a world often muddied by the hive of nature and man.

Yet despite the floral pleasure that cleansed his senses, the scent that he sought was strangely absent. After testing the air again, he turned to the side, his attention on the crest of the two-headed staff bobbing along the grass behind him.

"Jaken, he asked as he picked away at a bit of detritus caught in his pelt, "You're certain that this is the field that you put Ah-Un to pasture in?"

The staff sputtered to a stop. "Ah, yes, Sesshoumaru-sama. This is definitely the one. I'm certain of it."

He raised an eyebrow. "As you were certain of the last one? Or the one before that?"

"Uh…" he stammered.

"That each field is rife with lavender, a scent for which I have great fondness, is not a coincidence."

The staff trembled and took a hesitant step backward.

"Jaken."

Another step.

"Jaken," he called out again and raised his index finger around which a bright green light swirled. "You have a choice. Come out to where I can see you, or I will carve you out."

"Yes, Sesshoumaru-sama," he obliged, his tone depressed by surrender.

Grass and lavender stalks rippled as the staff approached the daiyoukai. Then the small, green youkai emerged onto a bare patch of dirt sculpted by spring runoff.

Sesshoumaru stared at him and waited, his hair glinting under the silvery moonlight.

"Please, my lord," Jaken began, his eyes fixed on the ground, "I didn't mean to mislead you."

"Where's Ah-Un?"

"I sent the beast away."

"Where?"

"Please, Sesshoumaru-sama—"

"Where?!" he boomed.

"To Midoriko's Cave…" Jaken confessed quietly, his eyes still on the ground. "To Inuyasha."

Sesshoumaru's eyes hardened into a glare and the green light that enveloped his index finger leapt to his other fingers until it had swallowed his entire hand. "You did what?"

"Sesshoumaru-sama, I—"

"Who are you to make such decisions without consulting with me?" he demanded, and his glowing hand tightened into a fist. "Who are you to make an accord with that hanyou without my permission? Without my consent?"

"Sesshou—"

"Such foolish deceit…" He strode towards him. "I thought you wiser than that."

"I had to…"

"Enough."

"I had to!" Jaken yelled at him, the sclera of his eyes blazing bright yellow. "I had to."

Sesshoumaru stopped, his mouth slightly agape.

"Ah-Un…" he admitted, sorrow aching in his voice. "The beast has served you well. Bravely even. So, when I saw the scar, I knew that it deserved a chance however slim it would be."

"Jaken."

"And I sent it away."

"Jaken," he repeated firmly. The green glow was gone. "Remove your tunic. Show me your chest."

An agony worse than acid claws raking his skin tormented his expression. "Sesshoumaru-sama, please…"

"Remove your tunic and show me your chest."

"Please," he begged. "Don't ask me for that…"

With an almost imperceptible kindness in his eyes, Sesshoumaru waited.

The night breeze rustled the grass and the redolence of lavender swelled in the air.

Exhausted, Jaken rested his staff onto the ground. Using both hands, he pulled his dark brown tunic over his head. Folding it neatly, he set it beside the staff before parting his undercoat to expose his chest. Across his tiny frame, the scar of a spider gripped him tight.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sesshoumaru asked.

"You're a lord of great importance," he replied, tracing the scar with his finger. "It wasn't worth troubling you over."

He shook his head, puzzled. "How is your affliction unworthy of my time? You should have told me sooner. About you. And about Ah-Un."

An unexpected chuckle bubbled from him. "How could I? You're a daiyoukai. The Lord of the Western Lands. The wielder of Bakusaiga. You dominated Tokijin and brought the dead back to life."

"What do my exploits and aristocratic station have to do with it?"

"Where the weak succumb, the strong thrive," Jaken replied, the weight of the statement bowing his bony shoulders.

Sesshoumaru blinked.

The glow that illuminated his eyes grew brighter. "I didn't tell you because I didn't need it proven that I'm unimportant to you. That I'm unnecessary. Or unworthy." He stripped off his undercoat and tossed it beside his tunic as he lay bare the rest of his fragile torso. "I know that I'm a lower status youkai. And I know that I'm weak and what that means in the natural order of life. I just didn't want to be pitied by my lord for succumbing to that fate."

"Jaken."

His eyes grew glossy as tears started to well. "And I didn't want to give you a reason to abandon me for being useless. To cast me away."

"Jaken, I…"

"You're not a sentimental man, Sesshoumaru-sama," he explained, his cheeks slick with tears. "You threw away Tokijin and Tenseiga when you judged that they were no longer worthy of you." He looked up into his eyes, pain carving his features. "I wanted Ah-Un to have a chance, but more than that, I just wanted to finish my life in your service. Following a few steps behind you. Just like always."

Sesshoumaru opened his mouth as if to speak, but all that was said was silence.

An agonizing cry exploded from Jaken's lips, and he collapsed onto the ground. Grasping at his chest, he writhed, overcome with convulsions.

"Jaken!" Sesshoumaru called out, and in a blur of white and red, he knelt beside him. Unsure of what to do, his hands hovered over him, eclipsing his body and leaving him to wonder if he'd always been so small.

His soft green complexion turned purplish.

"Jaken, breathe!"

With a wheezing gasp, he sucked down a lungful of air, his ribs flaring. Then another.

Reaching down, Sesshoumaru rubbed his delicate chest, feeling his heart racing under his thumb. "Breathe."

Falling into a steady rhythm, Jaken's breathing evened out, and soon the pain and stiffness that contorted his body lessened. Weakly, his tiny hand grasped Sesshoumaru's thumb and pulled it close. "Sesshoumaru-sama."

"It's all right, Jaken," he replied, scooping him up into the crook of his arm. "We're going to see Inuyasha."

"But, Sesshoumaru-sama…" he blubbered, too tired to hide his despair.

"We're going together," he soothed as winds of youki swelled around them. "I won't leave you. You're… You're worthy of me."

A euphoric wave of relief washed over Jaken's face, sending more tears spilling down his cheeks. Then he sobered and grabbed at the fur pelt he was nestled against. "Wait…" he begged.

"What is it?"

"The staff. I can't leave it."

As the rising youki swirled and buffeted against him, Sesshoumaru looked down at the two-headed staff half hidden in the grass. He shook his head. "It's not important."

"You placed it into my trust. I can't leave it."

"It's a trifle."

"It was your gift to me."

Frowning, Sesshoumaru looked down into Jaken's eyes and the resolve that glowed there. With a nod, he leaned forward and plucked the staff from the grass. Gently, he laid it against his shoulder where Jaken grabbed it and drew it close.

Then the whipping youki surged, and they took flight, the rising crescent moon at their backs.

OOOOOOOOOO

As the moon settled over the western horizon, the first rays of morning light warmed the night sky in the east. Jetting on a torrent of youki, Sesshoumaru flew, his hair and pelt whipping behind him. The green fragrance of the countryside transformed into pungent pine as he entered the mountains. In a blur, rugged forests and craggy slopes sped past below. And as he inhaled, he caught a scent in the downdraft. One that he missed.

"We're close," he said softly. Under the comfort of his pelt, Jaken lay bundled against him. He'd suffered two more attacks since they had set out, each one worse than the last. A strange sensation knotted in his chest, reminding him of Rin, limp and cold in a barren underworld. It spurred him to fly faster. And to hope.

The dark shadows of an abandoned taijiya stronghold flashed past and on the mountainside beyond it, the amber glow of oil lanterns burned. His hold on Jaken tightened as he dispelled his youki and glided into land.

As he touched down, a medley of youkai scents struck him. At the mouth of the cave, rows and rows of ailing youkai lay on woven mats under the lanternlight. And hustling between them, both youkai and humans tended to their needs. A young woman in a plain kimono caught his eye as she sponged water onto a parched kappa.

"Rin," he called out.

She looked up and a smile warmed her face when she saw him. "Sesshoumaru-sama."

With a gentle touch on its shoulder, she comforted the kappa, and then rose to her feet. She was taller and leaner than when he last saw her, leaving him to marvel at how quickly humans grew. And as she approached, the sway of her body hinted at the lovely young woman she was becoming. The tightness in his chest eased. She had died twice and was still here. There was a chance.

"When Ah-Un arrived, I knew that you'd come and help," she said, gazing up at him, admiration in her eyes. "You're the Great Lord Sesshoumaru, how could you do otherwise?"

The tightness redoubled, turning into a dull ache.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her joy sobering into worry.

With a hesitancy he hadn't expected, he opened his arm enough to reveal the green and brown figure nestled against his pelt. Gently, he shifted Jaken to face her.

"Jaken-sama!" she gasped, her hand grasping at the lapels of her kimono. "No, not Jaken-sama, too."

"Rin?" Jaken rasped, and his eyes blinked open. Unseeing at first, they glowed softly when he found her, and he mustered a weak smile. "Rin."

"You're so small," she said and reached to stroke his cheek.

He chuckled. "A human girl teasing my about my height. You're definitely Rin." Wincing, he sat up and surveyed his naked upper body. Then he let out a squawk. "Sesshoumaru-sama, Rin's gifts were in my tunic."

"They're unimportant," he replied.

"But—"

"Unimportant," he assured.

Rin's fingertips left Jaken's cheek to feel the spider-shaped scar on his chest. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she traced the legs that wrapped around him.

And when she stifled a sob, what hope Sesshoumaru held evaporated.

"Perhaps it would be better if—" he began.

"Wait," she interrupted, touching his forearm, "You should still see Inuyasha. He's inside the cave." She let out a shaky sigh. "You've both come so far."

He looked down into her dark eyes.

"Please."

"As you wish," he acquiesced, drawing a sad smile from her in reply.

With her hand still on his forearm, she led them inside. Hanging above and in clusters around them, stalactites and stalagmites littered the cave and shaped the winding path they followed. Nestled among their columns, simple oil lamps burned, their light reflecting against the glittering limestone. Humans and canine youkai hustled back and forth along the path, carrying supplies and missives. And mixed in among them, serpentine and spider varieties followed suit, doing their share. A hive of species, predators and prey, allied together.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Rin remarked, catching his look. "Everyone working together. It wasn't easy, especially since we still don't know where the infection came from. But he convinced everyone that this was the best chance that they had. The only chance that they had."

The quick rhythm of running feet approached from behind. Bumping into him as he brushed past, a wolf youkai with a long, black ponytail loped by.

"Sorry!" he shouted back with a cavalier brightness that undercut his apology and he disappeared around the bend.

Beyond, the echo of his footfalls dampened under the rising rush of a crowd. As they followed him into the bend, the cave opened up into a massive cavern. At the apex of a high, arcing ceiling, the morning sun shone down, revealing a swarm of people at work. Humans and youkai alike, they packed supplies and aided the infirm, the early hour having no impact on their efforts.

Breathing in, Sesshoumaru caught the familiar scents of the unlikely allies that had fought alongside him during their protracted battle against Naraku. And mixed in among them, he teased out the profile of his half-brother. His brow furrowed. Inuyasha's scent wasn't quite as he remembered.

"Oy, Dog-Face!" the wolf youkai called out, heading towards the center of the cavern, a swagger in his stride. "I'm back."

"Wolf-Cub," a raspy voice answered back dripping with sarcasm. "And here I had bet Miroku that you'd be half-stone by the time you left the cave."

"You wish!" he scoffed and pounded his chest. "I've got wolf's blood running through my veins. Not weak dog blood like you."

"Well, Kouga, since you're not dead and I don't see your tail tucked between your legs, I assume that you contacted the inu daiyoukai?"

"Yeah," Kouga replied, removing the sheathed sword at his hip and handing it to him. "When I went out to that hillside where we parted ways years ago and waved Tetsusaiga around, I definitely got your step-mom's attention."

"I don't think that she's my step-mom," he replied dryly.

"Close enough, right?"

"No."

"And what happened?" a young woman interrupted tiredly.

Kouga sighed. "And despite being in isolation from the rest of youkaikind, her vassals have become infected, too. While I was floating around in her sky palace, she dumped a few of her people into both the underworld and your old man's gravesite. There was no effect on the progress of the infection."

"Damn…" he cursed. "I was hoping for something other than bad news this morning."

"Why? What happened?"

"We got word back from Yakurodokusen," the woman replied. "He and Jinenji have been working nonstop on developing an antidote, but the more research they do, the more certain they are that it's not a poison. The best that they've come up with is an incense mixture that slows the spider's progress and dulls the pain but not by much. And…"

"And?"

"And the old sage has the spider now, too."

Uttering a rambling string of expletives, Kouga turned around, his irises ignited in bright blue.

"Look, I'm heading out to see Bokuseno this morning," she said. "We still have hope, because if anyone has seen anything like this before it's that ancient magnolia tree."

Then Kouga's vulgar expression of frustration sputtered to a stop. "Oh, that's who I bumped into."

"Inuyasha-sama!" Rin called out with a wave, "Sesshoumaru-sama is here!"

As he gave Kouga a firm pat on the shoulder, a young man stepped out from behind him.

Sesshoumaru's eyes widened.

Haloed in long, black hair, Inuyasha approached him. "I'm glad that you're here, Sesshoumaru. Sorry that I didn't notice sooner."

"You're human," he said, giving the air a light sniff to confirm what his eyes could see.

"Yeah," he agreed, glancing at his dull nails and sandaled feet. "The infection petrifies youkai but hanyous just transition to their non-youkai state. When the new moon came, I turned human and that was that. Seems like a blessing compared to the alternative, but it still means another dead youkai as far as I'm concerned." He paused. "I wasn't certain that you were going to come, but when Ah-Un showed up a couple weeks ago, I figured there was a chance."

He looked away, the tightness in his chest tugging at him.

"Oh… I see," Inuyasha intuited, and he sighed, his disappointment deepening the exhaustion that weathered his face. Then his gaze drifted to the bundle cradled against Sesshoumaru's chest and empathy filled his dark eyes. "Jaken has the spider, too?"

"He's had three attacks this night," Sesshoumaru explained. "I thought perhaps…"

Swallowing down, he shook his head.

"It's all right, Sesshoumaru-sama," Jaken croaked. "You brought me here. You tried."

And the tightness in his chest burst.

"No, I didn't try," Sesshoumaru corrected, anger roughening his voice. "When it didn't appear to be the result of purification or corruption, I deemed it unworthy of my time because it affected those who I looked down upon. Those who I have slaughtered without a second thought. And when I was made aware of its severity, I took umbrage with the truth in its delivery and let my pride blind me. I, a youkai lord, did less than trying. I did nothing."

A hand clasped his arm and he looked over to discover Inuyasha at his side.

"You're here now and we're not done fighting."

"You don't understand," Sesshoumaru explained, "I didn't come here to save youkaikind. I came here to save Jaken, and even so, my only vassal didn't believe that I cared enough about him to try. You were right. At my core, I don't care about anyone but myself and what I want. I'm a lord in name and not in action."

"But you can stay and do more than that," the young woman assured. Dressed in the white and red robes of a priestess, Kagome walked towards him. "I believe in you, and through redemption, you'll become the lord you were meant to be. The Demon of Namidabashi."

He stared at her quizzically, and then Jaken began to shudder against his chest.

"No," Rin begged, fresh tears burning in her eyes. "Not yet."

"Jaken," Sesshoumaru called out to him, his thumb rubbing the small youkai's chest as his mind raced over what could be done.

With his hand still gripping his staff, Jaken pushed the convulsions that wracked him down and grabbed his lord's lapel. His eyes aglow, he captured his gaze and held it. "Sesshoumaru-sama, I want you to know that it's been my honor to serve you these many years."

"Jaken, don't—"

"I was a lord in my own right before I met you. A lord of a pond compared to the vastness that was your ocean. People have said that it's better to rule a pond than serve in an ocean, but they've never seen the ocean. And no matter how you may feel right now, you are a great lord to me. I have no regrets but one, and that's not being able to follow you and be a part of what heroic deeds await you."

Then the convulsions overwhelmed him and his lungs seized, stealing his words.

"Jaken, I'm sorry."

Like faceted glass, crystal shards radiated from the spider on his chest. An agonized gasp sputtered from him as they penetrated deep into his core, turning it a soft lavender hue. Across his body, the crystal creeped, transforming him as it went. And as it reached his head, he managed a smile before the light in his eyes dulled and what remained of him turned to stone.

With Jaken's crystallized hand still holding him by his lapel, Sesshoumaru gently tugged him free, afraid to break him. The staff that he bore in his other hand though would stay.

"Sesshoumaru," Inuyasha said softly.

"Yes?"

"Your eyes. They're glowing."


	39. To Be Worthy

Chapter Thirty-Nine: To Be Worthy

Even as the earthiness of broken concrete suffocated the air, it was the pungent stink of radiator fluid and gasoline that roused Sesshoumaru from unconsciousness. As he breathed it in, he tasted it on his tongue, bitter and toxic. Elements of the natural world adulterated by the industry of man. And as the fog that weighed him down began to lift, the familiarity of their corruption returned to him, becoming mundane and leaving him to vaguely wonder why he tasted them but didn’t smell them.

Unsticking his eyelids, he slowly blinked. All around him was an indefinite darkness. Like a viscous film, bleariness clouded his vision. But as he attempted to raise his hand to rub it away, the dull ache that hovered in the background of his mind reared up and stabbed him in the wrist.

He breathed out a hiss. 

The pain burned away the last vestiges of his stupor and the literal gravity of his situation came into sharp focus. The oyabun. Kagome and Tora. And the collapsing parking garage. The ground giving way beneath him as the upper floors came crushing down had bought him enough time for a chance. The chance to make a leap towards one of the undamaged pillars on the lower level. Wedging himself at its lee had spared him an instant death and gave him perhaps another chance, this time to escape. Though, for now, he needed to take stock.

His right wrist throbbed with pain and he let his hand ghost over it. The skin was tight and itchy from swelling and deep within, he could feel the fractured bones lodged at unnatural angles. Considering his fighting condition and that his opponent had been a kirin, he could hardly complain.

He frowned.

Fluttering under his fingertips, he could feel his youki churning around the injury. The flow felt choppy, reminding him of moths bouncing clumsily against a lantern. He sighed softly in consternation and then another realization struck him. He was only breathing through his mouth.

Reaching up, he touched his face and an unexpected numbness met him, as if the battered flesh he gently prodded belonged to someone else. Again, he felt disrupted youki and when his fingers glided over his nose, its odd shape let him know why. It was dislocated. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb, he gave it a twist. A spike of pain punctured through his skull, driving a grunt from his throat through gritted teeth. It continued to pulse, aching his brain, but the cartilage and bone were in the right shape now and his youki flowed naturally.

His bite felt off, and he worked his jaw, opening and closing it. Two hard objects tumbled about in his mouth and he spit them out into his hand. They were his top canines. He tongued the gaps where they should have been and discovered his youki swirling productively. At the gumline, he could feel the tiny points of new teeth growing, leaving him with no reason to press them back in. Instead, he slipped them into his pocket.

Noting the conditions under which his face was healing, his attention returned to his wrist. The nature of the fractures was disrupting his youki. For the bones to heal, he needed to set them, and even then, a splint was necessary until they had mended well enough to stay in place. With the front panel of his tunic, he knew that he had enough cloth, but he needed to find something rigid to brace his wrist. He leaned forward, ready to rise to his feet. 

And in a world of darkness, his vision flashed red.

Excruciating pain erupted from his left leg and a gasp sputtered from him. His hand groped for the source and he discovered a chunk of rebar protruding from his thigh. Tenderly, he traced the thick rod of iron to a wound sticky with blood. From the angle through which the rebar had pierced him, it had missed his femur but that didn’t mean that the many vessels in his inner thigh were unscathed. Feeling his pantleg soaked in blood only further cemented his decision to leave it in place. 

He hummed thoughtfully. While the situation wasn’t ideal, at least he had found a solution for one of his problems.

Grasping the exposed rebar close to the wound, he pinched it until it snapped off. Nearly two-thirds of a meter in length, he pinched it in half and set the two rods aside. Next, he tore off a piece of his tunic to make a ragged bandage. Now that he had what he needed for his splint, he returned to his wrist. 

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on breathing. And with every rhythmic inhale and exhale, he took the pain aching his body and pushed it down. Slowly, it receded into the recesses of his mind, and there, bit by bit, he locked it away. So, that when he opened his eyes, all that lingered was mild discomfort.

He took his wrist, feeling the misalignment of his bones and imagining how they should be. Then he pulled.

Bright red burned at the edges of his vision, and with a snarl, he tamped the fresh pain down.

With gentle manipulation, he forced the bones back into position. And when they settled into place, he let the tension go. A shuddering sigh escaped him. He hadn’t realized that he’d been holding his breath.

He picked up the pieces of rebar and held them against either side of his wrist. Then he pinned the bandage against his abdomen and started to wrap his injured forearm. With careful effort, he bound it tightly, expecting the bandage to loosen as his youki reduced the swelling. When he was done, he secured the end with a simple knot, pleased that he still retained the dexterity that he’d gained when he’d lost his arm to Inuyasha.

With his injures tended to, he attempted to rise to his feet again. His left leg throbbed but he found his footing.

The darkness that surrounded him persisted. Overhead, the crushing tons of parking structure obliterated all light, even to his exceptional eyes. Sound fared better, and somewhere in the black behind him, he heard muffled sirens and crackling megaphones. The cacophony that accompanied the human response to an emergency. Unsteadily, he turned to face the muted din. It lent him a bearing, and as he felt along the concrete rubble in its direction, he realized, to his surprise, that it also lent hope. Had his pride become so resilient that he no longer felt shame about being rescued, let alone by humanity?

A cool scent seeped through his nose as he breathed in and his quest to find a gap in the rubble stopped. Clotted blood still clogged his nose and he paused to clear it before inhaling again. Through the choking dust and spilled automotive fluids, he smelled fresh air. He followed it upward until his questing hand discovered a crack made by a pair of tented slabs. From there the air beckoned, delicate against his fingertips and a surer guide for escape. 

Cautiously, he pushed up on the slabs, his ears sharp for shifting concrete. Dust and pebbles spilled through the crack, pelting his face and shoulders, but beyond that, there was no groaning or grinding. Satisfied, he used his back to brace against one slab as he pushed the other away. The bottom half of it slid down into the gap that he’d sheltered in and he leapt into the space its absence had created. The slab at his back slammed down with a bang that reverberated throughout the structure.

Again, he inhaled, searching for the fresh air. It wafted down through another crack, and as he tested the slabs that surrounded it, one of them groaned. Warily, he traced the slab and the adjacent rubble, imagining them in his mind. And as the reliable din of humanity kept him oriented, he slowly unraveled the slabs, like knotted yarn, until the crack was big enough for him to crawl through.

So, went his progress with infinite patience in the omnipresent darkness of his would-be tomb.

And as he squeezed through another gap, a sigh escaped him. 

Silvery in color, the first streams of moonlight peeked through a crack above him, illuminating the rubble with definition and depth. With his boots crunching on pebbly debris, he approached the crack and spied through it. 

Tinted orange by the haze of city light, the night sky met him.

A smirk hinted at the corner of his mouth and he followed the edges of the slabs that outlined the crack. Using his good arm, he tested each one, feeling how they shifted and deducing what order they should be moved. His attention settled on the largest slab. By shifting its angle to the side, the crack would broaden just enough for him to slip through to safety. As he crouched underneath the slab, he braced his back against it and then pushed. It slid to the side and the crack widened, letting in more of the night.

A groan rumbled through the structure.

His eyes widened as the sound of tumbling concrete filled his ears. Hastily, he tried to put the slab back as it was, but it was too late.

A grunt exploded from him as several tons of rubble toppled onto the slab. Grimacing, he bore the weight unsteadily, his boots sliding beneath him. Up above, the crack was gone and the limitless black returned.

Blood seeped down his left thigh, its coppery scent filling his nostrils. 

A bout of lightheadedness washed over him, swaying his resolve. Through clenched teeth, he blinked it back. He had to free himself before blood loss weakened him further. Gathering his strength with a roar, he pushed against the burdened slab, hoping that he could shift it enough to leap away. Instead it pressed down on him, as inescapable as gravity. 

He sputtered, his vision flashing red as his thigh erupted with agony. His leg trembled, and he leaned to the right, desperate to relieve the pain.

And the slab crushed him further, bowing him on bent knees towards the ground.

Stinging sweat trickled down his lowered head to drip from his nose and chin. Then saliva mixed in as ragged breaths tore at his throat.

This was it.

The end.

He, the last youkai, would now join his kind in oblivion. 

_“…And no matter how you may feel right now, you are a great lord to me. I have no regrets but one, and that's not being able to follow you and be a part of what heroic deeds await you.”_

He scoffed. The lord who had done the least to preserve his people had become their lone survivor. He, the least deserving of mercy, had seen a future that they would never share. And now he would be free of that shame. The shame of living when so many others had become dust. He would be free of his loss.

_"Overcoming your failures is never easy and neither is becoming the person you were meant to be."_

The regret that knotted in his chest only tightened as his inevitable death pulsed from him with every heartbeat, bleeding out onto the concrete. Then his eyes widened in realization. It wasn’t for his past that he grieved. It was for the future his people had sacrificed to give him. The chance to atone. To redeem himself and carry on for them. To become the youkai lord that they believed him to be. That they needed him to be. 

_"Whether you realize it or not, you are a part of our family. You have someplace you belong. And I can see it in your nature that you have an overwhelming need to protect that place. But remember that you are not alone. We are here for you whatever your new purpose in life becomes."_

But the dead weren’t the only ones who needed him. His kind might be gone but something new had taken their place. An old man and his endless devotion. A mother and her gentle acceptance. A social worker and his simple wisdom. A young boy and his tender bravery. And a young woman and her spirited resolve. He might be the last youkai, but he wasn’t alone. Even as he bowed under a mountain of concrete, they were waiting for him to come home. Tears welled in his eyes.

_"…What makes you family is that you belong to us. And we belong to you. We're your people and you're not our vengeance but our hope."_

And the city itself, still needed him. Not as a destructive spirit of vengeance but as an avatar of hope. For those who had been used up and left behind, he would be the foundation on which they could build and grow. For them, he wanted to be the protector that he had failed to be in the past. In their salvation was his redemption. His heroism. His purpose. His people.

_"I believe in you, and through redemption, you'll become the lord you were meant to be. The Demon of Namidabashi."_

A warmth brewed in his chest, dissolving the knot. His regret and shame melted away as the sensation swelled like a tide, filling him. It was brightness in the darkness that surrounded him. It was the city when he saved a life or fixed a water heater. It was Jaken when he gifted him the two-headed staff. It was Rin when he saved her from the underworld. It was his new family when he said that he would stay. It was…

_“Are you happy?”_

Lifting his head, he gazed into the black, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Yes… I’m happy.”

A golden glow filled the space, warming the broken concrete and when he blinked, it flickered. His irises were burning. And on the ground as bent as he was, he spotted his old crowbar. A gentle smile came to him. He was happy. At the brink of death, he’d finally known happiness. Closing his eyes, he gave into it, surrendering to the last sensation he would ever feel.

Pebbles rattled.

A gust of wind swirled.

A lightness eased his muscles and bones and it soothed away his pain. And as he inhaled, it filled his lungs. His eyes fluttered open as he breathed it in again, its scent akin to ozone. It was youki. His youki.

The torrent whipped around him as if he were the eye of a hurricane. Small chunks of concrete flew, swept up by the currents that then dashed them into powder. The blood that flowed from his thigh staunched and the injury itself became nothing more than forgettable pressure.

He slid his feet back into position and with a grunt, he pressed up against the slab that bowed him. Concrete groaned but did not give. His grunt grew into a growl and crumbling debris spun off into the orbit of his youki.

The slab wavered.

His gasping breath heaved his chest and with his last exhale, he let out an unearthly roar as he poured out all his power and lifted.

With a grinding shudder, the slab shifted. Braced against it, he pushed it up until he found his feet. And as he stood, his youki carried the faintest whispers of fresh air. Tracing it back, he spotted a crack in a deep shadow. And as the whirl of his youki faltered, he knew that this was his last chance.

Summoning every ounce of his remaining power, he pumped it into his arms and legs. His hands dug into the slab, cracking its surface. And when his youki all but evaporated, he burst forward, springing from the slab towards the crack. The concrete shattered as he shot through it, and close behind him, the rumbling of an avalanche pursued. 

Uplit in brilliant white, an unscathed corner of the parking structure still stood, and he sprang across the uneven rubble towards it. Then using his momentum, he made his leap, catching an exposed tangle of rebar just before the toppling concrete overtook him.

His heartbeat raced in his ears and he peered down at the settling rubble. Even in his prime, that much weight would have troubled him. He frowned. Perhaps more than troubled. 

The glint of metal caught his eye, and his attention fell to his right hand and the crowbar it held. Despite being warped beyond use, it still felt good. And as he considered it, the memory of a two-headed staff came to mind. He snorted. Jaken would never believe how sentimental his old lord had become.

“Sir, we need you to hold on,” a voice boomed over a megaphone. “Rescue is on its way.”

Their uniforms reflecting bright green under the floodlights, he noticed the hurried scramble of emergency services making their way towards him. Past them, a busy maze of vehicles filled the street, their red lights flashing. And beyond that, the galaxy of lights of his city waited. His people. His home.

Reaching behind him, he secured the crowbar into his sash and gave his would-be rescuers a cordial nod. Then he swung onto the remnants of a half wall and disappeared into the night.


	40. Confessions

Chapter Forty: Confessions

Quietly, Kagome opened her bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway. The gray light of early morning lit her way as she headed for the stairs. With tip-toed softness, she made her way down them, her feet gracefully dodging every creak, and when she reached the bottom, she walked towards the living room.

As she entered, she found Tora sprawled out in a jumble of futon. With her eyes pinned to his face and chest, she snuck towards him. Wearing an old tank top, his chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of sound sleep. But it was when his hand absently scratched his stomach that she knew that he was fine. When the parking structure collapsed, the chunk of falling concrete that had grazed him had given him a serious concussion. That he’d been lucid enough to wake up in the stairwell had been in their favor. With her helping him, they’d converted their costumes to their civilian look and staggered away, leaving the bike behind. He hadn’t been happy about it, but with the blood streaming from his scalp, they hadn’t had much choice when emergency services arrived.

Her attention drifted from Tora to the living room table. With her upper half draped atop it, her mother was asleep too, loosely sitting on her knees. A thin tendril of drool seeped from her parted lips and Kagome smiled gently. She’d stayed up as late as she could, monitoring his vitals and helping her with what she asked for.

On the table beside her was a mess of medical supplies. Sterile gauze, wipes, bandages, and their empty wrappers. Latex gloves. Bottles of antiseptic and tubes of ointment. And a bloody rod of rebar. Laid across the floor was an old sheet drenched in dark red and the remains of a tourniquet.

In near silence, she approached the table and began to gather the medical supplies, separating the trash from what needed to be returned to the first aid kit. She looked at the heavy-duty toolbox beside the table. Well, it was more like a first aid chest now. Softly, she flipped its metal latches and lifted its lid. One-by-one, she put away the supplies, leaving the instruments that needed to be sterilized out. Then she piled all the waste onto the sheet. 

But when she picked up the piece of rebar, she paused. Rotating it in her hand, she examined the bits of tissue that clung to its pattern of ridges. His agonized snarl when he ripped it out of his thigh echoed in her mind. Then she set it onto the sheet and rolled everything up. 

As she hefted the bundle, she revealed a dark stain on the tatami mat floor beneath it. For a moment, she considered it. Then she slipped out of the living room and into the entryway. After stepping into her shoes, she toted the bundle out to the disposal bin for the incinerator and dropped it inside.

Inhaling deep through her nose, she let out a heavy sigh. The cool morning air felt refreshing and for a few long breaths, she reveled in it as it cleansed the milieu of antiseptics and blood from her nose. Then her sight gravitated towards a second story window. Barely visible in the dawn light, she could make out an incandescent glow.

She smiled to herself. 

She went back inside. After making her way up the stairs, she headed down the hallway. And when she reached the sliding door at the end, she lightly rapped it.

“Sesshoumaru,” she whispered, knowing that he could hear her no matter how softly she spoke. “May I come in?”

A long silence passed.

She waited.

“Yes,” he replied.

The door glided down its track and she entered his bedroom.

With his back resting against the wall, Sesshoumaru sat under the covers of his bedding. Beside him and beneath the warmth of a nightlight, Souta lay snug in his futon. The soft glow of a tablet uplit the daiyoukai’s face as he swiped its surface, his eyes moving rhythmically as he read. On the other side, several serving dishes sat stacked, the only evidence of their contents reduced to a reddish-brown residue. After they had pulled out the rebar, he had devoured every scrap of meat in the house, his finicky palette be damned. And when Mama couldn’t cook it fast enough, he had wolfed it down raw. She smirked. While his feralness had been intimidating, the fact that he’d been unable to stand up and that his canines were missing undercut the effect to everyone’s benefit.

“Feeling better?” she asked with a nod towards the bowls.

His glanced up at her. “Satisfactory.”

“Did you sleep?”

His eyes fell back to the tablet and he shook his head. “No.”

“Then is it okay if I check your injuries to make sure that they’re healing well?”

His swiped the screen one last time before clicking the power button and setting the device aside.

Smiling gently, she approached his side and knelt onto her knees. She leaned in close to him until his breath warmed her cheeks, and with tender grace, she touched his face. He closed his eyes as her fingers glided over his nose and cheekbones.

“Seems like your nose is almost healed,” she said, noting both the fading bruising and the slowly swirling youki. “When it’s done, I don’t think it’ll look any different than before. How are your teeth?”

His cool eyes blinked open and from behind his lips, she could see him tonguing the gaps.

“They’re nearly grown in,” he replied.

“Good, because otherwise their absence was really going to undermine your condescending reputation at the fish market.”

He gave her a slight smirk.

She flashed him a grin before scooting back until she was beside his forearm.

“What…” he began to ask, then paused before gesturing to his face. “What happened after this?”

Her expression turned bittersweet. “I shot at the oyabun with purification arrows and she took my power and absorbed it into her own. And when she had drained enough of it, she let it reveal what she really was.”

He looked away, his gaze settling on the simple pattern on his bedding.

“At that point it was clear that she was going to kill you, if not all of us, so I took a gamble and wounded her lieutenant in a way that would be fatal if she didn’t get him help immediately. We were lucky that his life was more valuable to her than ours were.” Staring at her right hand, she sighed. “Well, at least I hope my gamble was right. That it wasn’t fatal the instant I let the arrow go.”

His attention returned to her, his eyes firm. “You’re not at fault no matter what the outcome is revealed to be. I am the one who swore to protect you, both physically and morally. I will accept responsibility if he dies.”

She met his eyes and the resolution behind them and replied with a weak smile. As much as she wanted to let him take the guilt that spoiled in her gut, she couldn’t. Her actions were hers and hers alone.

His expression softened. “I apologize for failing to protect you.” 

“I understood the risks and I made my own decisions. And to be honest, my belief in you was rewarded. The plan worked.” She felt her chest tighten as words formed on her tongue that she couldn’t take back. “But if I’m angry at you for anything it’s because you lied to me. About youkai.”

The softness he displayed hardened. “I did not lie to you. I am the last youkai.”

She scoffed softly. “You called the oyabun a hanyou.”

“My aim was to distract her so that you both could escape.”

“But she is one, isn’t she?”

“In a manner.”

“Then you’re not the last one.”

“I am.”

She rubbed her face with both hands and grumbled. “You’re going to kill me with semantics. I don’t know if being taciturn and evasive is your personality or the nature of being a daiyoukai, but what I do know is that it’s frustrating.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “Likely both.”

From behind her hands, she scowled at him.

He met her look, unperturbed. “I did not know what she was until confronting her at the parking garage, otherwise we wouldn’t have carried out such a risky plan. I have never encountered a celestial beast before, so I didn’t understand what my instincts were warning me from until it was too late.”

“So, you know that she’s a kirin?”

He nodded.

“In that case,” she said before pointing at his chest where his loosened robe revealed a glimpse of his spider-shaped scar, “Why does she have the same scar? She called it a sign of a curse. What is it?”

He let out a soft sigh.

With her eyes fixed on him, she waited.

“Do you remember a few days ago,” he asked, giving a subtle nod towards the window, “When you used the shrine bell steps to illustrate the status of our peoples in relation to each other?”

She nodded.

“At the time, I described youkai as being people of the earth, but since our world is divided by the powers of two realms, then it’s only natural that there are people who are of the heavens as well.”

“The celestial beasts.”

He nodded. “Dragons. Phoenixes. Kirins. They exist on the highest tier, empowered by the gods and heavens. That’s why she could manipulate and absorb your power. You both drink from the same well.”

“And you’ve never encountered one before?” she asked.

“No, they’re very rare. I’m certain that generations of my clan have come and gone without meeting one.”

She frowned thoughtfully. “So, how did you know that she’s a hanyou?”

“Because even though I have never dealt with a celestial beast, I know a hanyou when I meet one. Their nature is conflicted by a war of instincts between two disparate peoples.” He shook his head. “And I cannot think of a more dividing combination than the divine righteousness of a kirin and the base vulgarity of a youkai.”

She snorted. “Vulgarity? You do realize that you’re describing yourself?”

“If that’s so, then I would also say that the average vulgarity of a youkai has diminished quite a bit in recent years.”

With care, she picked up his bound wrist. His improvised splint was gone, replaced by a piece of molded plastic and a fresh bandage. She examined the gentle contours of his arm. Now that the swelling had subsided, the fracture was barely noticeable. Beneath her fingers, she could feel the churn of youki knitting his bones back together. At the rate they were healing, it wouldn’t be surprising if he had the splint off the next day.

“So, what does the spider mean?” she asked again as she carefully rotated and stretched his arm, checking his range of motion.

With his other hand, he rubbed his chest, his fingertips tracing the scar. 

She waited, testing his fingers and feeling the warmth of his circulation.

“It’s a reminder of my shame and my loss,” he admitted at last, his voice turning hollow as his gaze drifted to his bedding once more. “It’s what remains of the youkai plague that I was too proud to face on behalf of my people.”

She paused, her hand holding his. “Youkai plague?”

“Anyone bearing youkai blood fell victim to it. The first sign was the illumination of their irises during moments of intense feeling or excitement. Not long later, a spider would appear on their chest, branding them. Slowly, its legs would wrap around their ribs, causing episodes of tremendous pain and seizing. And at the end in one last fit, their bodies would petrify into crystal.”

Her free hand rose to cover her mouth. Familiar memories of a playful kitsune, a fiercely loyal cat, and a cocky wolf prince overwhelmed her, only now their vibrance was frozen, trapped within effigies of glass. Impending tears stung her eyes and she pushed it down. They were gone. She had made peace with that ever since the Bone-Eater Well had lost its magic. Then firerat fur ghosted through her mind and she nearly broke.

He inhaled softly and something akin to reassurance filled the emptiness in his voice. “Hanyous experienced a different fate than full-blooded youkai. During the routine occasions when their demon essences receded, their power simply never returned afterward. They remained human, or in the case of the oyabun, a kirin.” His eyes met hers again. “So, do not despair for him. He survived.”

She sighed shakily and gave him a nod.

Outside the window, the glass wind-chime rang, its song bright and delicate.

“Why…” she asked as she took a steadying breath, “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

He squeezed her hand, gentleness and strength flowing into her from his touch. “Before I had yet to truly face my shame and so I hid from it, or rather, I let it hide me. I let it overcome and burden me. But now that I have confronted it, it no longer weighs me down. Instead, it pushes me forward. Lifts me up. Inspires me to be better. To honor those who have died. To be worthy of their sacrifice.”

A blush warmed her cheeks.

“I need to, uh, check your thigh wound,” she said, clearing her throat.

He let her go.

And for a moment, her hand missed his comfort. 

Taking the edge of his blanket, he swept his covers back far enough to reveal his thighs wrapped in his robe. On the left side, he folded back the fabric until he exposed the raw wound that spoiled his inner thigh.

Leaning forward, she reached over him to touch it. With the swelling gone, healthy skin surrounded the injury and she could feel his youki at work, mending the vessels and muscles underneath. As she had nicked Ishida’s femoral artery, so had the rebar done to Sesshoumaru when it had punctured his thigh. In all her time as a priestess, she’d never seen flesh weld itself to a foreign object the way his had the night before, but if it hadn’t, she doubted that he would have made it home before bleeding out. 

“There’s one more reason why I didn’t tell you sooner,” he said.

With her hand warm against his thigh, she looked up at him.

“I’m not certain of my memories and their reliability. Whether my centuries adrift in the deep have confused reality, but I remember you being there at the end when the spider bit.”

She blinked. “I was there? During the plague?”

He nodded. “It’s muddled, and honestly prior to my unsealing, I never lent you much consideration. You were another human, albeit more useful than most. But I believe that it may be that you were there.”

“I don’t remember a plague…”

“I only have a rudimentary understanding of how you once transited through time, but perhaps that which is in the past for me still awaits you in your future.”

The world slowed as the implication of his deduction hit her. “But the well doesn’t work anymore…” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I and that’s the other reason why I hesitated to share beyond my shame. I’m not in the habit of divulging that which cannot be proven or explained, especially when it has been filtered through five hundred years of emptiness.”

She sighed. “It’s all right. I forgive you for not saying anything. To be honest, I don’t know if I would have if I’d been in your place.”

He nodded a bow in her direction. Then his hand lightly clasped hers and suddenly she was hyperaware of how close he was to her.

“There’s one last matter.”

“Oh?”

“It’s about a question that you often ask me. One that I’ve never had a good answer for.”

Swallowing dryly, she nodded.

“When I was buried in the rubble of the parking structure, I realized that being here with this family and with you has become something more than a foundation of support upon which to rebuild my life. It has become the source of a feeling that I’ve rarely felt.”

She looked at him quizzically. Then her eyes brightened, and a small smile formed on her lips. “Are you happy?”

In the soft morning light, his eyes glimmered gold. “Yes.”

Her smile broadened into a grin.

Someone sniffled from the hallway.

Twisting to the side, she looked through the open doorway to discover her mother, her grandfather, and Tora huddled together.

There was another sniffle, and with a smirk, Mama surreptitiously pointed toward Tora.

“This kind of thing always &%$@ing gets to me, I swear,” he admitted before rubbing his glossy eyes free of the wetness that threatened to turn into tears.

“How long have you guys been standing there?” Kagome asked, pink tinting her cheeks.

“Pretty much the whole time,” Souta replied with a voice hoarse from sleep.

Her attention flew to him and she watched him as he stretched lazily in his futon.

“The real question…” he added with a yawn, “Is how long are you going to keep groping his leg?”

Her blush went nuclear. Quickly, she yanked her hand away before throwing Sesshoumaru’s covers back over his lower body as if hiding the evidence.

Grandpa shook his head in disappointment. “Kagome, I never thought I’d have to say this to you, but please don’t take advantage of the injured or the defenseless. It’s not very becoming of a priestess in the Higurashi family.”

“Grandpa!” she yelled. “I wasn’t doing anything!”

He scoffed.

“Grandpa!”

Reaching over, Sesshoumaru picked up the tablet and clicked it back on.

She spun on him. “And you knew they were listening in on us the whole time?”

He shrugged noncommittally. “There was nothing expressed that wasn’t for their ears as well and what does it matter if they were there or not? There’s no such concept as privacy in this family.”

They murmured in agreement.

With her words sputtering, Kagome wracked her brain for a defense that would restore her dignity. “It’s not about privacy. No, wait it is about privacy—”

With a furrowed brow, Sesshoumaru held up a finger, interrupting her. 

“What?”

He flipped the tablet towards her. Displayed on its screen was the publisher’s page for an eBook. 

“Why are you showing me this?” she asked.

“Look at the bottom,” he said as he tapped the screen.

“It says that this Basic Guide was printed by the Bikini Girl Publishing Company. Are we really that surprised?”

He tapped the screen again. “The emblem. Does that design remind you of anything?”

Frowning, she looked closer. At the bottom and beside an address located in the Saitama prefecture was the stylized head of a three-eyed cow. Her eyes widened. “What the &%$@?”


	41. Family Portrait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been a genfic since its inception, mostly due to my policy of not promising romantic relationships that might not be fulfilled as the story unfolds. At this point, I'm confident that I can change the tag to include these kinds of relationships. For those who were invested in its status as solely a genfic, I'm sorry :( But rest assured that the characterizations and plotting will continue in the same vein that they exist now.
> 
> As for the rating, it will remain T for now.

Chapter Forty-One: Family Portrait

A brilliant rectangle of white, the late morning sunlight shined through the wellhouse's open doorway, giving depth to the darkness within. The soft light illuminated the cascading steps that ended with a ring of black dirt embedded with fossilized bone fragments. And at its center, a square-shaped well jutted upwards from the ground.

At its bottom and in the coolness that felt damp even though it was as dry as the desert, Kagome stood. Lightly with her shoe, she prodded at the dirt that filled the ancient well, digging a shallow divot and then covering it up again. Back and forth, she paced within its narrow confines, gouging the ground and smoothing it over.

"What am I hoping for?" she whispered to herself as she erased another divot with the sweep of her shoe. Her heart wanted to burrow its way into the past, but her mind knew better and buried it again. Deep and weary, a sigh heaved her chest and she nudged the dirt once more.

A tall silhouette filled the wellhouse doorway.

"Kagome?" Mama called out. "Are you in here?"

"Yeah, mama," she answered back and hastily evened out the ground with her shoe.

Footfalls thumped down the stairs and Kagome looked up, waiting for her mother's face to appear over the lip of the well.

"Are you there?" Mama asked as she spied down, squinting into the shadowy depths. "I can't see you."

"I'm here," she assured. "It takes a little while for eyes to get used to the darkness."

She smiled gently. "Trying to dig your way back?"

"N-No…" Kagome stuttered, unnerved by her mother's intuition and thankful that she couldn't see her blush.

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Maybe…" Her gaze returned to the well bottom and she sighed. "I don't know. Even though I was doing the asking, I wasn't ready for Sesshoumaru to suddenly be forthcoming about the past this morning. Ever since we unsealed him, I've pressured him about what happened after Naraku's defeat and he always brushed me off."

"The shame and self-loathing that he was carrying wasn't an easy thing to talk about," Mama reassured, the warmth of her voice deepening. "So, I would say that it's a testament to your patience and your forgiveness that he finally felt comfortable expressing it at all. Perhaps you both needed to grow as empathetic people before his pain could be shared."

"I suppose," Kagome said, smiling softly. "I just wish there was more."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure that he's divulged everything that he knows. And since he's not really the type to be disingenuous, even in the past when he was a jerk, then somehow future-me is there when this youkai plague happens."

"Ah."

She chuckled to herself. "It's funny. I came down here to see if the well would work. If it had, in its own unpredictable fashion, decided that I'm allowed to go back and visit my friends. Heck, I'm even digging in the dirt with my shoe as if that's ever worked." She looked back up into her mother's eyes. "But in all honesty, I'm weirdly happy that nothing has happened. No lights. No magic. Just darkness."

"Whether or not the information is incomplete, you learned a lot this morning. It's no wonder that your feelings have become mixed up and difficult to sort out."

"It's more than that."

"Oh?"

"Even though the Sengoku Jidai is a real time that took place in our nation's past, it has always been hard for me to think of the world at the other end of this well as being connected to my home here. It was just so different. Sure, it had Goshinboku and Mount Fuji. Even the same star constellations in the sky. But there was also all this supernatural stuff that wasn't the same here. Terrifying youkai, empowered priestesses, and enchanted weapons. I mean, we fought and defeated a bad guy who wiped out countless villages. He killed hundreds, if not thousands, of people, and there's no record of it."

"But it did exist here in this place," Mama soothed. "Remember? We visited that stronghold where Sango grew up. We found the cave where the Shikon-no-Tama was created. Even the notch from the arrow that sealed Inuyasha is still carved into Goshinboku. It was all real."

"I know that," Kagome conceded. "The fact that there's a little bit of evidence is what keeps me from thinking that it was some alternate reality all together. It's what lets me believe that my friends are here with me in spirit even though I don't know where they're buried. But remnants of an old stronghold and a tiny gouge in a tree aren't the same as real, breathing people who carry that world in their hearts and memories. And with Sesshoumaru, I have even that now."

She frowned thoughtfully. "I'm not sure I understand what's bothering you…"

"I know. It's hard for me to put words to and describe." She blew out a breath and ran her fingers through her hair. "All right, when I went through this well, I traveled to this other time where I fought to stop a man who was intent on bending the world to his will. But when I came back here, nothing was any different. Whatever I did in the past never seemed to have any bearing on the future where I came from. There are no history books that describe some ragtag team with a crazy schoolgirl from the future, and that together they saved the world. So, sometimes it doesn't feel real. And now that I know that it was real, sometimes I wonder if I had refused to help collect the Shikon-no-Tama shards, would it have mattered? Would history be any different?" She tapped her chest. "Did I make a difference?"

Mama smiled and then reached down to beckon her. "Come up here, honey."

Steps creaked as Kagome climbed up the ladder and with practiced ease, she hopped over the lip of the well to stand beside her mother.

Exuding a gentle sincerity that was uniquely hers, Mama pulled her in close for a comforting hug. A quavering sigh escaped Kagome as she surrendered to her warmth and breathed in her perfume.

"I don't know either," Mama admitted quietly as she stroked her hair. "But do you remember the first time Sesshoumaru had been shot? Back when we didn't know what he was doing at night?"

Kagome nodded, her head resting against her mother's shoulder.

"I talked to him about something that maybe you deserved to hear, too. About my own reservations when it came to the risks that you took when you traveled into the past."

"I didn't know that you worried about me going through the well. You were always so supportive."

"What else could I do?" she asked. "You had this gem inside your body. You could travel through the Bone-Eater Well. And while there aren't any written accounts of your journey, this shrine, with its sacred tree and wellhouse, has a supernatural reputation for a reason, even if it isn't specific."

"So, you believed that what I was doing was important?"

"I believed that it was your destiny. I believed that if I didn't do everything in my power to support you, you could have failed and that the future we're enjoying right now would be gone." Then she sighed wearily, and her arms squeezed her tighter. "But that doesn't mean that I didn't have my doubts, too. That even now, I'm encouraging my only daughter to risk her life for something that might not need her to succeed."

Kagome sniffled. "I don't think any of this is helping me figure out how I feel or what to do…"

Mama chuckled kindly before planting a kiss atop her head. "For the last few years, your life and its purpose has been a puzzle that's missing so many pieces, but every once in a while, a new piece pops up and gives you a little more of the picture. All that happened this morning is that Sesshoumaru dropped a handful of them into your lap. And maybe in the next couple days, you'll get some more."

"I hope so."

"But even if you never have enough pieces to see the picture clearly, you've always had a strong will to do what was right. To make the decision that benefited others, even if it meant sacrificing what you wanted most. So, no matter what choices you make and their outcomes, if you stick to that, you can always be proud of who you are."

"Oh, mama," Kagome mumbled. "Thank you." A soft sob shuddered through her body and she buried her face into her shoulder, smothering her tears.

Mama rocked her gently.

Somewhere far beyond the glowing wellhouse doorway, a young man laughed heartily.

Mama smiled. "I think everyone must be almost ready. Have you finished packing yet?"

"Of course," Kagome scoffed, and then cleared the roughness from her throat. "I mastered packing bags for trips a long time ago."

"I suppose you would have," she laughed. "In that case, let's go see how the amateurs are doing."

With her arm around Kagome's shoulders, Mama guided her up the wellhouse's steps towards the doorway.

Out in the shrine courtyard under the summertime sun, Sesshoumaru waited with his arms crossed against his chest. Restless with enthusiasm, Tora fidgeted in front of him, a battered broom in his hand.

"So, here's another cool combination that I put together," he announced cheerily, "It's a little harder with a broom compared to a bō staff, but I can make it work..."

Sesshoumaru glanced coolly towards the wellhouse.

"What's going on?" Tora asked as he started to turn to the side.

"The women have returned."

"Oh…" He paused midway. "Is Higurashi-san watching us?"

He gave him a flat look.

"Well?"

He sighed. "Perhaps."

Tora smiled mischievously and gave the broom a confident twirl. "Hold still, all right?"

"No."

"Come on," he begged, then flashed him a toothy grin. "I haven't hit you so far."

"No."

"Please?"

Sesshoumaru breathed out another sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "If it will silence you."

"I can't promise you the impossible."

"If it will satisfy you then."

"All right," he agreed. "If you hold still, I'll be satisfied."

Sesshoumaru gave him a slight nod.

Giving him a wink, Tora took a step back and swept the broom to the side, its bristles hovering above the ground. Then he was in motion. The broom spun like a windmill, crossing back and forth in front of him. Amid the flurry, he quickly thrust it forward, punching the air at Sesshoumaru's knees. Wisps of straw fluttered free from the sudden stop, then he withdrew the broom and the spinning begun again. It whipped behind his back with flourish and reversed rotation. Then he struck out at him again, nearly grazing his groin. Between the whirling embellishments, Tora's strikes slowly moved up Sesshoumaru's body as he aimed for his abdomen, chest, and with a final frenzy of movement, ended at his throat.

With his chin tilted up, Sesshoumaru gazed down at him impassively.

"So…" Tora panted between heaving breaths, "Was… she… watching?"

He sighed and flicked a bit of straw from his nose.

"You're no… help." He set the bristle-end of the broom down and turned to the side to spy surreptitiously at the women. He beamed a sly grin. "She was… totally watching."

Channeling his disdain, Sesshoumaru interrupted his satisfaction. "I should have realized from your hair that you were not human but a rooster instead."

He turned back towards him and ran his fingers through his red fohawk. "Maybe! Could be that my mother's been lying to me this whole time and I actually hatched from an egg."

He snorted and gave him a fleeting smirk.

"Besides, I know that you're just jealous. Sure, you can throw cars and lift half a parking structure off your back, but I've got some moves, too."

The broom rattled onto the ground.

With a liquid grace, Tora skipped back, his feet dancing and quick as he put distance between himself and Sesshoumaru. "See?"

"What is that?" the daiyoukai asked.

"Bruce Lee," he replied as he came to a stop and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I was obsessed with him in high school. Not lying, it took me a year to get the footwork perfect."

His mind worked behind his eyes as he retraced the steps. "Ah."

Tora's expression paled. "Wait… Aren't you injured still? You can't…"

Frowning thoughtfully, Sesshoumaru sprang back, his feet moving with equal finesse as he skipped across the ground.

"You're such a %$#&ing asshole" he growled in frustration. "Why can't you let me have one thing? Just one. Or at least %$#&ing pretend like it was hard, dammit."

He gave him a haughty look.

"Oh yeah, who's the rooster now?"

Mama chuckled. "I'm pretty sure that you're both roosters."

With his eyes wide, Tora spun on his heel, his cheeks pink from more than exercise. Smirking, Mama approached them with Kagome a step behind her. When she reached him, she leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek.

"Have you both finished packing?" she asked.

He nodded towards three backpacks beside an old, stone lantern. "Just waiting on Souta-chan and your old man."

Then as if summoned by the mere mention of their names, the front door to the house opened and Souta stumbled out, struggling under the weight of two overstuffed backpacks. His shoulders hunched by age and not by burden, Grandpa followed him, his expression dreamy and unbothered.

"Geez, grandpa," the boy muttered between grunts. "Now I know where Kagome gets her packing habits from."

"Oh, ho," Grandpa chided, "And here I was about to compliment you on your respect for your elders. You see I'm not the one who offered up the extra space in his backpack to his grandfather nor did I insist that you carry both bags outside."

He sputtered, nearly dropping the backpacks. "You sure were making the suggestions though! Loudly and constantly."

He scoffed. "Nonsense. Those were just harmless observations."

Mama brought her hands together in a loud clap and their argument evaporated into the summertime air.

"All right, everyone," she spoke up, flashing a dangerous smile at each of them. "We're going to take a picture together. Souta, set the bags down by the lantern. We'll use the wellhouse for our background."

With all grumblings quickly squashed by nothing more than a look, the group huddled together, the tallest in the back.

"Souta," Mama said, "Since you're the shortest, you get to take the picture. Use your tablet and make sure that we're all in the frame, okay?"

He nodded. "Got it."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his tablet and selected the photo app. Carefully, he angled the top of the screen away until he had captured everyone within the frame.

"Okay," he said, "On three."

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

He tapped the button and a camera shutter effect sounded.

Mama leaned forward to peek at the image from over his shoulder. They all radiated smiles except for one, whose countenance was at least pleasant. She nodded with approval. "Perfect. Send it to everyone."

"Why did we have to take a picture, mama?" Souta asked as he attached the photo to a group text.

"We're family and sometimes it's good to have a reminder of what's at stake, especially since we don't know what's coming."

Sesshoumaru nodded. "With that in consideration, our train will be departing in less than twenty minutes."

Tears welled in Souta's eyes and he grabbed his mother around her hips in a tight hug. "But I don't understand why you're not going with us."

Tenderly, she gazed down at him and stroked his hair. "Someone has to stay here to look after the shrine and keep track of what's going on. Stuff that won't be reported by the news. But I don't want you to worry. The oyabun doesn't know about me or this place and it's a big, stinky city. Even if she can track as well as Sesshoumaru, I should be safe if he, Kagome, and Tora aren't here."

"Then why can't I stay here with you?"

She knelt in front of him and cupped his cheeks with both hands so that she could look into his wet eyes. "Because I'm not willing to jeopardize you or grandpa on even a small probability. Everything will be okay, but even if there's a tiny chance that it won't be, all of you will be safe and that's what matters to me as head of this family."

Fresh tears spilled down his face. Then he pressed himself into her and refused to let go.

A strong hand clasped his shoulder gently and he looked up to discover Sesshoumaru standing beside him with a pair of backpacks slung across his chest. Astride his back, Grandpa sat, his eyes gazing down at him as well.

"Honor your mother's courage," Grandpa said kindly. "We need to be as brave for her just like she's being brave for us. And once we find some answers, we'll be on our way back, all right?"

Souta held on for a moment longer, then his grip loosened, and he let her slip free.

She kissed his forehead and tousled his hair. "Everything will be okay."

Finding her feet, she stood up. Her gaze connected with each of them, eliciting nods as they made ironclad their pacts to be safe and come home. But when her eyes met Sesshoumaru, she lingered and the anxiety she shielded from the rest etched her face.

He nodded. "With my life."

She nodded in return.

Then together, they turned towards the shrine entrance and headed out.


	42. The Ascent

Chapter Forty-Two: The Ascent

Deep within a dreamless void, he floated. Numbness pervaded his senses, insulating his body as if he were in a tomb. The sleep of the dead or of those who hovered close to it, a shallow sigh away.

A rhythmic chirp, faint at first, penetrated the void. It bridged the synapses of his mind, drawing him close. It breathed feeling back into his senses. The coolness of cotton sheets. The pungency of cleansers and disinfectants. The quiet rush of an air conditioner.

Something was pinching his right forearm.

With eyelashes crusted with sleep, Ishida opened his eyes. Glaringly bright, sunlight filled his vision, and he squinted into it, waiting for the blurry world to take shape.

He lay upon a hospital bed, his lower body covered in white sheets and blankets. At the tip of his index finger, he noticed a clamp with a cable that flowed from its end. In his other arm, he discovered the source of the pinching sensation, an IV taped in place, its long tube plugged into a plump bag that hung from a pole. Beside it, he spotted a monitor that displayed graphs of his heart rate, blood pressure, and blood oxygen levels.

Beyond the bed, he spied polished wooden floors and watercolor murals of the deep forest painted on rice paper walls. With his eyes still aching, his gaze drifted towards the floor-to-ceiling windows and the field of skyscrapers reflecting the summertime afternoon on the other side.

Absently, he scratched at his stubbled chin, noting a couple days' worth of growth.

Then his vision came into sharp focus. Leaning forward in an armchair with her elbows resting on her knees, sat the oyabun. A smartphone held her attention as it lay balanced on her palm, and he could make out the motion of a video playing across its screen.

"O-Oya-sama," he rasped, and for a breath, he was surprised by the hoarseness of his voice. Then the searing pain in his chest robbed him of any further thought as wracking coughs shuddered his body.

Before his second cough, she was at his side, untucking the top half of his gown to reveal his bruised chest and abdomen plastered with an array of sensors. Centered over his heart, she placed her hand upon him. An iridescent glow radiated from it and his coughing fit subsided. Every inhale and exhale became easy and he was overcome with a strange euphoria that reminded him of morning dew clinging to blades of grass.

Feebly, he reached for her hand and gave it a thankful pat.

And with a nod, she withdrew.

"What happened?" he asked, glancing at the medical instruments attached to him.

"What do you remember?" she replied.

He looked up as he thought back. "I remember that we let ourselves be caught by the Demon of Namidabashi and his crew. We were in that parking structure across from the nightclub. You were about to kill him when that weird girl with the glowing arrows shot me in the leg. I fell…" He shook his head. "But after that, there's nothing."

She nodded and started to pace. "The arrow struck an artery. You were bleeding out. I managed to get you to the closest hospital in less than a minute." She paused. "But you had lost so much blood that your heart stopped beating."

"Ah," he sighed, feeling at the bruising that mottled his chest. "That explains the broken ribs."

She began to walk again. "Between my powers and the blood transfusions, they were able to stabilize you and repair the artery. They advised bedrest for now and likely physical therapy later. If patience is observed, they anticipate a full recovery."

He smiled to himself and then reached for the bed remote. The whir of a motor engaged as he raised the head of the bed. And when it was fully upright, he crossed his legs, hissing at the pain that throbbed from his thigh.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her pacing slowing to a stop.

"You saved my life," he grunted as he mustered his strength to lean forward and bow deeply. "I'm required to express my gratitude."

She grasped him by the shoulders. "Please don't. It was my arrogance that endangered you. I desired to play and gave them an opening that nearly killed you."

He let her push him back onto his pillow and chuckled when she seized the remote to lower the head of the bed.

A smirk kinked his mouth. "Have to admit that they played a good game though. Can't be angry at that. Especially the girl. She did what she had to do, and the outcome was not chance."

She scoffed. "I should have killed that filthy youkai when he was lurking outside the tower that morning. But it had been so long since I had dealt with one that I wanted to have some fun. Instead, I had to hope that the collapsing parking structure would finish the job."

"The parking structure collapsed?"

She nodded. "And despite being crushed by it, he still lives."

He raised his eyebrows.

Leaving his bedside, she walked over to the armchair and picked up her smartphone and when she returned, she cued up the video before handing it to him.

"Police footage," she explained before he could play it, "Emergency services were conducting their rescue efforts that evening when one of their dash cameras caught this. There's no audio and it's not public yet."

He nodded and then tapped the play icon.

Illuminated by floodlights, a jumbled mountain of gray rubble appeared on the screen. The only sign that it was someplace that he knew existed at its edges where the remnants of the parking structure still stood. In the foreground, flashing red lights spun and rescue workers fluoresced green as they worked the scene. Then the camera began to tremble, and the workers scrambled back behind their vehicles. Beyond them, the rubble shifted as what remained of the upper levels tumbled to one side. The time stamp at the corner of the video ticked by as a strange stillness persisted. The workers crept forward. Then they fell back when the trembling returned. A white blur exploded from the mountainside in a hail concrete and behind him, the rubble cascaded down, nearly swallowing him up.

"Damn…" he muttered, replaying the clip in slow motion. "I don't know how many tons of concrete that was, but he was definitely pulling more power than when he fought you." He looked up at her and frowned. "It was the kind of move I'd expect from someone in your weight class. No disrespect, my lady."

Her dark eyes hardened into a glare.

Letting out a sigh, he bowed his head. "Apologies."

She looked away and her expression softened.

"So, what happened to the others that were with him," he asked as he held out her phone. "Did they escape, too?"

"It's unclear," she replied as she took the device and slipped it into her pants pocket. "Emergency services are still searching the rubble for survivors. According to our sources, they've found no one alive or dead."

He hummed thoughtfully. "Well, I doubt he'd make an escape like that and leave them behind, so they're probably alive somewhere in the city."

A scowl soured her expression and she paced. "He's youkai trash. When it comes down to life or death, such creatures only care about their own kind. No one else matters, even if they share their blood."

"Oya-sama."

An opalescent glow shimmered in her eyes. "He dared to look upon me with disdain and label me an abomination."

He blinked slowly. A fallen tree in a lush forest overwhelmed his senses. Soft with rot, clusters of red-capped mushrooms protruded from its thick trunk, and under the bark and deep within its crevices, insects scurried and scratched. He inhaled the air and an earthy redolence filled his lungs, inspiring thoughts of death and renewal.

"Oya-sama," he repeated weakly.

"He will not escape me for long. I will destroy him. And I will destroy any humans that harbor him."

"Oya-sama, please."

"What?" she demanded.

"Your aura," he sputtered, drool seeping down his chin. "I can't…"

The imagery blew away like smoke and he was in the tower again. The opalescence faded from her eyes.

"I understand that you feel strongly about this demon," he said, wiping his chin clean. "But let me continue to handle it as your wakagashira. It's my duty as a first lieutenant to deal with your enemies so that your hands stay clean."

"You're injured."

He tapped his temple. "I don't need to walk, or to even leave this room, to strategize. With a phone and a laptop, I can assemble teams to gather intelligence. I'll find the demon and his crew, if they're still alive. And when they're found, I'll set another trap and make any sacrifices necessary to ensure its success, even if it's at the risk of my own life. But please, let me do it."

With her arms crossed against her chest, she eyed him.

"No," she avowed, anger hardening her voice. "I will hunt this prey myself."

OOOOOOOOOO

With her thumbs tucked under the thick straps of her old, yellow backpack, Kagome took a break from her hike. Absently, she reached for a side pocket and pulled her water bottle free. Flipping its top, she took a refreshing sip of its cool contents before turning to look back down the steep mountain and see how far she had come.

Like feathery spires, tall conifers blanketed the world, broken only by the ribbon of gray that marked the train track coursing through the valley below. Eclipsed by the dark green, she could still make out the white station where they had disembarked. To justify having a train stop, she had expected at least a small town nearby, but only a couple vending machines had awaited them. That and a trail half hidden by the encroaching forest. Given a dearth of options, they had spent the better part of the afternoon hiking it as it carved its way up the mountainside.

"Can you still see the train station?" Souta asked, his question garbled by munching sounds.

"Barely," she replied and turned towards him.

Steadily plodding along, Tora headed up the trail with his backpack slung across his chest and Souta riding on his back. The second switchback had defeated the boy and much to Tora's surprise, he had been given something more to carry.

"That's cool," Souta remarked as he crunched down on a pretzel and chewed it noisily. "How far do you—"

"Okay," Tora interrupted, irritation clipping his words. "The real question is how much money did Sesshoumaru give you to buy snacks? Because I'm pretty sure that you've been chewing in my ear for the last half mile."

"Like four-thousand yen," he replied matter-of-factly before popping another pretzel into his mouth.

He sighed. "Remind me to counsel Sesshoumaru about finance management when this is all over. But in the meantime, you and I need to strike a bargain, Souta-chan."

"Oh?"

He cleared his throat. "In exchange for being your horse, I require regular snack and beverage service during this trip. Hand fed to me, by the way, since my hands are currently occupied."

"You want me to feed you pretzels?" Souta asked.

"Yep, just pop them in my mouth."

"Okay!" he agreed with a grin. Stuffing his hand into the bag, he pulled out a pretzel and reached blindly around to Tora's face.

"Ow, that was my eye! And that's my nose. Try again. Hit my tooth there, so we're getting close and…"

Souta yelped. "You bit me!"

"Sorry," Tora apologized as he munched on the pretzel. "Hazards of feeding a tiger. Get me some water."

Reaching forward, he plucked a water bottle from the backpack and unscrewed the lid. Moments later, they were both laughing with half the water splashed between them and only a quarter of it having made it into Tora's mouth.

Kagome sighed as she eyed the drenched bandage that covered the gash Tora had received when the parking garage collapsed.

"Are you still feeling okay?" she asked, tapping her head in the same spot as his wound. "This is a lot of activity for someone recovering from a concussion."

His laugh sobered to a smile. "Don't worry. I'm paying attention to how I'm feeling. No dizziness or light-headedness. And I'm apparently drinking plenty of water. Mostly."

She opened her mouth with a ready objection.

"We're nearly to the crest," Sesshoumaru spoke up. With three backpacks weaved across his chest and Grandpa perched upon his back, his pace had been the slowest as he picked his way along for the smoothest path. "When we reach it, you may check him for any signs of ailment. Until then, we should press on before the sun gets low."

"What are we going to do if there's nothing at the top?" Souta asked as he shoved the empty snack bag into one of the backpack pockets.

"We will camp out for the night. I will return to the station for provisions or if desired, I can provide through hunting."

His eyes widened. "Cool."

With Kagome taking the lead, they continued their ascent. Buried under thick piles of pine needles, the trail disappeared and reappeared as they made their way, leaving her to rely on the hint of its unnatural rut as guidance. The low-hanging sun transformed the forest with its golden hues, casting long shadows as the late afternoon reached its zenith. And as she hiked around the bend, her jaw dropped open.

The trail ended in a steep flight of stone steps and midway up them in bright red, a huge torii gate loomed.

"Amazing," Grandpa murmured, excitement brimming in his voice. "Look at the craftsmanship. There's no mortar."

Sesshoumaru nodded. The steps had been carved and fit together so precisely that the seams were barely discernable. The effect made it appear as if the flight had been crafted from a single massive stone.

Following Sesshoumaru, they started the climb. Despite the blanketed state of the trail, not one pine needle touched the steps. Lining the way, sets of stone lanterns stood, the light within them igniting as they passed by. However, their pace slowed as they approached the gate and a strange tension electrified the air.

"It feels like a barrier," Kagome noted, "But not one that's divine, so I don't think you'll get purified."

"That's hardly reassuring," Sesshoumaru commented dryly as he reached towards the gate, feeling the shape of the barrier. He frowned thoughtfully.

"What is it?"

"Its shape isn't meant to repel or destroy. Tell me, can you sense anything beyond it?"

Closing her eyes, she pushed her senses, trying to feel for what lay at the crest of the mountain but discovered nothingness instead. She shook her head.

"It's a dead zone designed to keep this place hidden except from those who are meant to find it."

With his customary confidence, Sesshoumaru passed through the gate and blue light rippled the air around him. Kagome followed suit, and as she crossed the barrier, the songs of birds and wind-rustled trees filled a silence she hadn't realized existed.

"Oh, that was really weird," Tora blurted out behind her. Then patterns of ripples inundated the air as he hopped back and forth through the gate, testing the effect. "So weird!"

Kagome sighed wearily.

With the lanterns guiding their way, they continued their ascent, the atmosphere thinning as they climbed. And when they reached the crest of the steps, the trees parted into an open courtyard. At its center stood a beautiful shrine built around a gigantic, mammalian skull, its long upper canines serving as a pair of pillars that framed its main entrance.

And waiting on its front steps stood an elderly woman in her sixties with a hammer slung against her shoulder. Long, gray hair spiraled down to her hips and she wore a sporty bikini that showcased a body in peak physical condition for her age. Tilting her chin up, she stared at them.

"Who the hell are you people?"


	43. Bikini Girl

Chapter Forty-Three: Bikini Girl

"Wow," Tora said under his breath, his gaze pinned to the woman watching them from across the shrine courtyard.

"Yeah," Kagome replied.

"Was this who we were expecting to find at the top of the mountain?" he asked. "Because I certainly didn't think an old lady in a bikini was a possibility." Then he shook his head, his expression incredulous. "Are those actual cat ears on her head or is she wearing a headband?"

Squinting, she stared at the woman's tousled crown of hair and the cute, triangular ears half-hidden by it. "Um, I'm pretty that's a headband and I'm an expert on identifying that kind of thing, trust me."

"Good, because after the last lady we unexpectedly encountered, it would be nice to deal with someone human."

The woman cleared her throat, her hammer tapping against her shoulder. "Let me repeat. Who the hell are you people?"

The strange sensation of being watched rippled through Kagome, tickling the hairs on the back of her neck. And when she cast about for its source, she discovered everyone looking at her expectantly.

"Oh…" she mumbled, and her attention returned to the woman.

As if in reply, the woman gave her hammer a handy twirl.

"My name is Higurashi Kagome," she began with a polite bow before gesturing to Grandpa still perched upon Sesshoumaru's back. "And this is my grandfather, Higurashi—"

The woman sighed, her gaze rising to the heavens lost in the ruddy throes of sunset. "Allow me to rephrase. I don't actually care about who you are. What I would like to know is why are you here? What's your business? This isn't a public shrine and from your bedraggled arrival this late in the evening, you don't strike me as being wayward hikers who got off at the wrong train stop."

Kagome grimaced. This was definitely someone who required something better than a half-assed explanation. Her face brightened and she turned to her brother. "Souta?"

"Yeah?" he replied.

"Did you bring your tablet?"

He nodded.

"Can you get it for me?"

Leaning forward, he reached around Tora's neck to unzip the slim, laptop pocket on his backpack. He pulled out the device and handed it to her. She turned it on and opened the eBook app. After a few swipes, she nodded to herself.

Feeling her confidence with a smile, she called out to the woman, "Honestly, the best explanation for why we're here is on this tablet, so if it would be okay, I'd like to show you."

The woman casually waved her in.

With the tablet tucked into the crook of her arm, Kagome crossed the courtyard, heading for the short flight of steps at the entrance. An exotic blend of traditional architecture and a primal aesthetic, the shrine was unlike anything she'd ever seen. Dark tile capped the three-storied pagoda, its roofing ending in flaring eaves from which glowing lanterns hung. Sculpted serpentine beasts served as pillars, bracing the second and third stories while framing the massive skull embedded at the front of the building. With the tip of it sagittal crest nestled under the third story roof, the skull glared at her with empty eyes as she approached. The relatively short slope of its snout reminded her of a cat, but its long, sabre-like canines suggested that it was something far more ancient. As she passed between the two teeth, she noticed elaborate reliefs carved into the enamel, a tangle of youkai amid curling clouds.

Still standing on the steps, the woman awaited her with a posture that embodied apathy, but there was a bright curiosity in her dark eyes that emboldened her.

Stopping at the bottom step, Kagome held up the tablet for her to see. Zoomed in on its screen was a publisher's page. "Our family is a big fan of these Basic Guides and when we looked at who printed the series, we noticed that this three-eyed cow emblem reminded us of someone we once knew." She took a deep breath. "Does the name Totousai mean anything to you?"

The woman's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped open.

She smirked. "So, it is related to him."

"How do you know who Totousai is?" she asked.

Kagome chuckled. "It's a long story, but the short version is that my family's shrine has a dry well through which I traveled to-and-from the Sengoku Jidai until nearly two years ago. During my travels I met a weaponsmith named Totousai. Since then, I've been stranded in the modern era and had no idea what became of the world that I had visited. That is until recently when I learned about a plague that had wiped out almost all the youkai. I came here to find answers and maybe some hope."

"You said almost all the youkai?"

She looked towards Sesshoumaru. "There's one left."

The woman's eyes rose until they met him. Then she nodded. "Please, all of you, come inside."

Both Sesshoumaru and Tora gently unloaded their passengers and together, they walked towards the entrance. When they reached the shrine's entryway, they shed their shoes and heavy packs onto its cool, slate floor.

"My name is Bikini Girl and welcome the Totousai Shrine," the woman said, and she slid a partition down its track.

Murmurs and gasps radiated through the group.

A great room appeared before them. Polished floors and moldings in honey-colored wood framed the space, their details the masterwork of generations. At the center of the room, a wide staircase rose to the second story and its horseshoe shaped walkway that was flanked by an elegant railing. Overhead, the ivory underside of the skull arced upward, penetrating the vaulted ceiling above. All around them, the walls flowed with exquisite murals on rice paper, showcasing youkai and their terrifying beauty as they stalked and leapt from panel-to-panel.

Captivated, the group shuffled forward, their attention poring over the details with whispered awe.

A step behind Sesshoumaru, Kagome remarked, "There are so many youkai. I hadn't realized how much I really missed them until we came here. I mean, I knew that I missed my friends, but it's more than that, isn't it? A whole world more."

He paused, glancing back in her direction, and nodded. Then his jaw dropped almost imperceptibly.

"What?" she asked.

He swept past her and headed towards one of the murals. Riding upon swirling winds in a summer sky, a pair of white, inu daiyoukai pranced, a crescent moon on their foreheads and magenta markings striping their cheeks. Absently, his finger gravitated towards the painting, hovering over it as he began to trace its contours.

"Oh, wow," Kagome said softly as she peered past him. "Your father?"

"And my mother," he replied. But as his finger followed a downward arcing curve, he stopped. A smaller inu daiyoukai bounded in their shadow, his features a blend of their images and his expression one of snarling disdain.

She snorted with amusement. "It's you. I'd recognize that face anywhere."

"Is that so? Let me get a close look at you," Bikini Girl asked behind them.

They both turned around to find her waiting with her eyes fixed on him.

"And kneel down," she added, gesturing to the top of her head. "I'm not as tall as I used to be."

Raising an eyebrow, he did as she requested and settled down onto a knee. At that height, she stood a whole head-and-shoulders taller than him and the commanding tone in her voice seemed to fit her better.

Frowning, she leaned forward and examined his face, her attention dwelling on his golden eyes split by knifelike pupils and his silver hair. Irritation flashed across his expression when she touched his chin and then turned his head so that she could examine his elfin ears.

"Uh, I wouldn't do that—" Kagome interjected.

"Don't worry," she replied, letting him go. "I'm done prodding." She nodded towards the mural. "So, you were a youkai lord of that famed inu daiyoukai lineage, though now it seems that your luster has been tarnished by disease and time."

He watched her silently, his thoughts inscrutable.

"I know why the girl is here, but why are you here, daiyoukai?"

Trapped within the wall sconces, lanternlight flickered as time passed.

He sighed. "I came here to seek Totousai. The real Totousai, if he still lives."

"And why do you wish to find him?"

"I'm in need of a tool. One that will grant me the ability to defeat an adversary powerful enough to have slain me even at my peak."

She shook her head. "Why would the lone surviving youkai choose to face an enemy who guarantees certain death?"

"This adversary oppresses the weak and I desire to be their guardian. I wish to save them and by doing so, to atone for my failure to protect my people in centuries past when I was a youkai lord. Totousai was a weaponsmith and I had hoped that he could provide once again."

"Why do you ask for a tool and not a weapon then?"

His brow furrowed. "A true guardian, a real lord of the people, provides them with the means to prosper and not just a blade that wards off their enemies. I must have the power to build, perhaps more so than the power to break. By possessing a tool, I can do this and serve as their spirit of hope. However, if I possess a weapon, then I can only become a spirit of vengeance and that's an existence that I cannot bear."

"Have you used such a tool before?"

He nodded.

"Show me it."

He rose to his feet and headed for the entryway. Moments later he returned, his warped crowbar in hand. Balancing it on his palm, he held it out for her to see.

"I desire to have it reforged," he explained. "It's served me well." Then he opened his other hand and presented the pair of canine teeth. "These may not hold much value now, but I had hoped to provide them as either material or payment. Whichever would have suited Totousai best."

She smirked. "Youkai lords don't have a reputation for supporting and empowering the subjects that serve them. The best that these people could hope for is that when a daiyoukai demanded tribute, they would at least maintain the balance in the land."

"Sounds like a yakuza protection racket," Tora joked as he strolled along the wall, admiring the paintings.

"Not that far off," Bikini Girl agreed. "So, youkai lord, what have you done to defy this reputation? How have you served as a guardian to your newfound people?"

He frowned thoughtfully. "I have battled their oppressors, seizing back the means by which opportunity is granted in this world. With the aid of others, I have used it to support the community by satisfying whatever needs they ask of me."

Souta appeared beside them, a broad grin on his face. "We patched roofs and repaired air conditioning units. We replaced balance boilers with new water heaters. We fixed plumbing and electrical problems. We replaced appliances and furniture or bought clothes. Sometimes people just wanted transit passes for the train or the bus. Whatever was written in your guidebooks, we did it."

She chuckled at the boy. "Sounds like you've been very busy."

He blew out a breath. "Every week. But even when people weren't thankful, it felt good to give them what they needed, because that's what it means to do the right thing."

"So wise for someone so young," she remarked.

Then her attention returned to Sesshoumaru. "As of now, I'm the sole master of enchanted blacksmithing, the last of the Totousai lineage to have achieved it. But I won't forge this tool for you. If you are as proficient in the Basic Guides as I've been led to believe, then you've earned the opportunity to become my disciple instead." She smiled. "While I may have children and grandchildren, none have shown any interest in the discipline, so I never expected that someone like you would arrive during my lifetime. When you have proven yourself competent, then I will pass on this knowledge to you as your sensei. From it, you'll craft the tool that you desire. Will that satisfy you?"

He watched her, his mind working behind his eyes. Then he nodded.

"Good," she replied. "Your first task as my disciple is to make dinner. It's been a long time since I've entertained guests and I believe this occasion calls for fresh boar. The recipe that I expect is—"

"Pork and mushroom hot pot," he interrupted. "I will retrieve the ingredients now."

She shook her head and grinned. "Perfect."

Giving her a bow worthy of a sensei, he departed for the entryway.

She sighed and her gaze fell to Souta as he examined the handcrafted detail on the stairs. "All right, so now I know why the girl is here and why the daiyoukai is here. But why are you here young man?"

"My mom told me to go," he replied.

"And you?" she asked, eyeing Tora.

"Uh, his mom told me to go?" he answered with a shrug as he peered into an antique vase.

She shook her head, and then a dangerous smile grew on her lips. "I believe that I've found my cleaning crew."

"What?"

"The kitchen is on the right. Please get it cleaned up and ready for your friend's return or you will be waiting that much longer for dinner. After that, you'll be prepping the rooms upstairs for your stay and stowing the belongings that you brought."

Souta and Tora looked at each other.

"Now," she added, tapping her hammer against her shoulder.

"Yes, ma'am," they barked in unison and hustled into the adjacent hallway towards the kitchen.

"My dear," an old, raspy voice spoke up.

She turned to discover Grandpa standing beside her with a pen and a battered copy of Bikini Girl's Basic Guide to Carpentry in his hand. She raised an eyebrow.

"I've been a fan ever since I was a young man," he explained, pink tinting his cheeks. "Even built a woodworking shed. And I have to say that you're more captivating now than you were in the pages of this book. If you would, I'd be honored if you signed my copy."

She gave him a sly look as she accepted the items. "Of course. Anyone who has been inspired into building a woodworking shed deserves that much. And by the way, who said that you weren't still young?"

"Ugh," Kagome groaned and left for the kitchen. "I'm going to go join the cleaning crew."

Twirling the pen between her fingers, Bikini Girl asked, "So, who do I make this out to?"

OOOOOOOOOO

With her smartphone in hand, Mama leaned against the counter. White with veins of silver, its new marble surface gleamed, reminding her that Sesshoumaru would remodel her entire kitchen if given even the slightest permission. She chuckled. He loathed idleness and she had no trouble believing that he'd always been on the move in the past, patrolling his lands.

On the countertop, an electric water kettle rumbled softly, steam billowing from its spout, and beside it, a cup of ramen noodles waited. Meals from scratch were the standard for a Higurashi dinner, but what was the point of enjoying an empty home without indulging in a guilty pleasure. Plus, it also meant no dishes. She smirked. And they would never know.

Using her thumb, she scrolled through her contacts until she found Kagome and she tapped the phone icon. The screen displayed a candid photo of her daughter looking over her shoulder, a smile cheering her face. Dead air whispered from the speakers and then a generic voicemail played. After the tone, she left a short message filled with the hope that they had arrived safe and to call or text her back. For the most part, it was the same message that she had left all of them, though the one for Tora had been slightly more personal.

The kettle began to whistle and with a click, it turned off.

She set the phone aside and picked up the ramen. But as she peeled back its paper lid, an odd feeling overwhelmed her senses.

A wintry chill blew through her and as she breathed it in the fresh scent of a pine forest filled her lungs.

She rushed from the kitchen to the window and when she peaked out, she spotted a dark-skinned woman in a pressed, white suit standing at the top of the shrine steps.


	44. Spilled Tea

Chapter Forty-Four: Spilled Tea

This was it. The moment that Mama had dreaded. According to Sesshoumaru, the possibility of the oyabun discovering the shrine was slim, a deduction he’d based on his own tracking abilities. The city was vast and filled with people, a dizzying medley of scents. In such a place, isolating the profiles of three people from a chance encounter would be difficult, perhaps impossible.

The early evening breeze ruffled the oyabun’s blouse and carried a few of her long braids.

Sweat beaded on Mama’s neck and she could feel her heart thrumming in her chest. Generations of Higurashi blood coursed through her, driving her fear. While she had never pursued priestess traditions, her ancestry and the legacy of the shrine and its sacred phenomena had shaped her, attuning her senses to the divine. But the occasional holy shrine or curiosity was no match for the immensity of the celestial beast that awaited her outside.

She swallowed down on the lump in her throat and steeled her nerves. There was a reason why she had insisted on staying. Because despite the fear that ached her body now, it was no match for the regret and shame she’d feel if someone else were here in her place. If Kagome’s friends had come by to check up on her. Or if visitors on a pilgrimage had arrived at an empty shrine and lingered. Or if the police had been called to investigate their absence. If anyone had been here and the oyabun had found them, she wouldn’t have been able to forgive herself. Without a doubt, she feared embroiling the innocent in danger more than facing a veritable god.

She breathed deep. As head of the family, this was her responsibility and more so, she was the only one of them who could do it. Right now, she was the one who could face the oyabun and survive.

Survive.

In a hustle, she left the window and raced across the house and into the kitchen. Her smartphone was still on top of the counter and she snatched it up. She yanked open one of the cabinet drawers and its random contents slid about from the force. Hastily, she sifted through pieces of paper and old batteries, searching. A creased business card fell from between a stack of coupons and she seized upon it.

_Inspector Nakagawa Eiji, Detective: Criminal Investigations_

While Sesshoumaru hadn’t had an opinion that he cared to share, Souta had said that the detective had saved them. She stared at the blocky print of his contact information and licked her lips. Maybe he’d be willing to do it again.

Quickly, she unlocked her phone and opened her notetaking app. She pulled up a file and copied the paragraph that she had written once everyone had left for the train and pasted it into a text message for Detective Nakagawa. Her finger hovered over the send button, a decision she couldn’t undo. She bit her lip. If she failed, then someone had to find them and tell them what happened. She tapped the button.

Message sent.

Her fingers a flurry, she deleted the text message from her history and blocked the detective’s number. Then she erased the note on the app and with an ease she’d practiced for, she shucked her phone open and pulled out the sim card. She threw it in the drawer and slammed it shut before putting her phone back together again.

The dark forest closed in on her again. Deep piles of pine needles, soft under her feet. Tree trunks surrounded her, covered in rough bark. The pieces came loose as she pulled at them, her hands sticky with sap.

Breathing in and out, she shoved the sensation down and buried it. 

With a final sigh, she was in motion again. Cabinet doors whipped open as she pulled out her best tea tray and pot. After setting them up on the counter, she dove into the refrigerator and retrieved a beautifully decorated pastry box and placed it by the tea set.

She scanned the objects, then nodded. She was as ready as she could be.

Leaving the kitchen behind, she headed for the front door. But as she passed the hallway mirror, she stopped. In the creases around her eyes and in the tension of her jaw, she saw her fear. And if the oyabun saw what she could see in her reflection, she would exploit it. Break her with it. Endanger everyone she held dear with it.

She would never let that happen.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. And with each breath, she remembered every time she waved goodbye to Kagome as she bounded for the dry well and the perilous world on the other side. Or when she packed Sesshoumaru and Tora a snack before they left for their patrol. And she remembered the times when they returned, and they weren’t okay. The moments when they needed her strength the most. 

The coil of anxiety inside her began to loosen, letting the tightness in her muscles relax. And when she opened her eyes, she saw a rock that withstood the crashing waves of a storm surge. She saw her warm confidence in her pleasant smile and gentle eyes. She saw a woman that would not break.

Determination brimming inside her, she walked to the entryway and slipped on her sandals. Then without a shred of hesitation, she opened the front door and left for the courtyard.

Still at the crest of the steps, the oyabun loitered, her eyes poring over the shrine. At first, she appeared to be enraptured by her surroundings, blind to Mama as she approached. But there was a readiness in her stance. She was primed for violence, like the open jaws of a crocodile.

Mama smiled. This is who her daughter stared down.

When she was ten meters away, she knelt onto her knees and prostrate herself in a deep bow, her fingertips touching as her palms rested on the ground in front of her.

“Great Qilin,” she called out, her lips almost brushing the stone brick, “There are no words to describe the tremendous honor that your presence grants this unworthy shrine. As its purveyor, I would like to formally welcome you as our esteemed guest. My name is Higurashi—”

“Where are they?” the oyabun asked bluntly.

Mama felt the nebulous aura that surrounded the oyabun coalesce onto her body, sending a shiver shooting down her spine. She swallowed. “My lady, as our esteemed guest, it would be unforgivable if I did not serve you in a manner deserving of your status.”

“There’s nothing a wretched plebian, such as yourself, could offer that would even approach the worthiness that I deserve. So, you’re relieved of the obligation. Tell me where they are.”

“As noble and powerful as you may be, this isn’t an obligation that can be cast aside. It’s a tradition to serve guests when they visit. If a venerable being, such as yourself, sets foot in this shrine and I do not serve you, it will tarnish the divinity of this sacred place. I cannot allow that, even at the risk of my life.”

The oyabun scoffed. “You’ve permitted a washed-out daiyoukai to reside here. The sanctity of this shrine has already been soiled.”

“Has it, my lady?” Mama felt the warmth of the brick radiating up against her chest and face. “You can sense the power, can’t you? There’s no impurity here.”

She glared at her, her jaw working.

“Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had the time to invite you in.”

The breeze blew, sending fallen leaves dancing across the ground. In the distance, the rushing city filled the quiet, its lights starting to glow brighter than the sky around it.

“If it will please you,” the oyabun conceded at last, “You may serve me as your guest. After which you will answer my questions to my satisfaction. Or I will kill you.”

Her aura receded.

Wearing a gracious smile, Mama sat up. “I will, to the best of my ability.”

With an indescribable grace, the oyabun began to walk towards her and Mama could scarcely conceal her gasp.

Above the oyabun, the foliage of the reaching boughs turned red and gold. Then the leaves fell, tumbling onto the ground around her. In their place, new buds formed and fattened until they unfolded, becoming new growth. Crawling up between the cracks in the brick, insects scurried before her. Their antennae waving, they seemed mesmerized by her presence. With their tiny bodies underfoot, her crisp, white pumps clacked down upon them as she strode. But in her wake, they remained unharmed and scattered in bewilderment.

“Well?” she asked as she came to a stop beside Mama and crossed her arms against her chest.

“My apologies,” she said before hastily climbing to her feet. She offered a humble bow and waved towards the front door. “This way, my lady.”

She nodded.

Taking the lead, Mama walked ahead of her and when she reached the front door, she held it open with a bow. The oyabun glided in and she followed behind her. They both shed their shoes, arranging them neatly in the entryway.

“Please come sit down,” Mama said, guiding her towards the living room. The chaos from the night before was gone, except for the dark stain by the table. 

The oyabun stopped in the doorway, her attention on the coagulated blood, her nostrils flaring slightly as she breathed it in.

“What type of tea would you prefer?” she asked, ignoring her guest’s distraction. “I just bought this jasmine blend that came highly recommended. The best available, but I have yet to try it, so perhaps together we can see if it measures up to its praise? To see if it’s worthy?”

She spied back at her from over her shoulder.

“I’ll take that as a yes, my lady,” she replied with a polite bow. Then she disappeared down the hallway and into kitchen.

Her body in autopilot, Mama turned on the water kettle again and opened the tea cupboard to fetch her new tea. She filled the tea basket and placed it in the pot. The water rumbled in the kettle and she clicked it off before it could boil. Steam wafted as she poured the water over the basket, steeping the tea. She collected the teapot, a pair of cups, the pastry box, and two plates with forks onto the tea tray and carried them to the living room.

There, she discovered the oyabun seated at the table, her dark eyes watching her. Mama paused. Under the incandescent light, it was the first time that she’d had a good look at the woman. With almond-shaped eyes and full lips, her face was an elegant blend of Asian and African features, making her easily one of the most beautiful women that she’d ever seen. Yet her expression remained a stony mask except for the ferocity that simmered in her glare and in the tension of her shoulders. She could admire the tiger, but she should never forget what it is.

“The tea is almost ready,” Mama assured with a warm smile, and she moved forward again, setting the tray onto the table. “I also visited a lovely pastry shop earlier today and found a green tea cake for us to enjoy. It’s vegan.”

The oyabun raised an eyebrow.

“Since you’re a qilin, I thought it might be considerate to provide refreshments where no animals were harmed or exploited.”

“You knew that I would find you today?”

Facing her across the table, Mama sat down. “I knew that it was a possibility and I’m not in the business of underestimating others. No matter who or what they may be.”

With an accustomed precision, she unloaded the tray, arranging the items on the table for service. Lifting the lid on the box, she revealed the delicate cake inside decorated with pink and green cherry blossoms.

“This looks delightful,” Mama remarked, and she placed a piece onto each of the plates. She slid one in front of the oyabun. “Please enjoy, my lady. The tea will only be a moment.”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked brusquely, ignoring the cake. 

“What do you mean? You’re my guest.”

The oyabun snorted. “I’ve come here seeking my enemies, intending to destroy them and anyone who protects them, no matter their kindness. I’m not your guest. Why are you performing this charade?”

“Charade?” she repeated, and her gaze turned to the blood stain that spoiled the floor. “This isn’t a charade. Or a mockery of civility. This is an attempt at understanding, my lady. Before it’s too late and more pain is shared between us.”

“There’s nothing to be understood.”

“That’s not true,” Mama disagreed gently, her attention returning to the table. She picked up the teapot and began to pour tea into the cups. A rich, floral aroma filled the air. “Do you know why I’ve referred to you as a qilin and not as a kirin?”

The oyabun stared at her.

She set the cup of tea before her. “It’s because my daughter shared with me what you told her in the parking garage. I know where you came from. And more importantly, I know what a hanyou is.”

An iridescent glow shimmered in her eyes.

“I don’t intend it as an insult,” Mama assured and sipped her tea. “I mention it because I understand what it means.”

“You have no idea what it means.”

She smiled. “I knew a young man once. He was like you, caught between two worlds. His father was powerful and influential, a man whose people had the resources to prey upon those who were less fortunate. And his mother was from that class of people who were preyed upon. A people who were consumed by the other. His parents had fallen in love, despite the bigotry and predation between their kind. But their son had a harder time than they could have imagined, because even though he was from both worlds, he belonged to neither.”

“I’m not this young man. You presume too much.”

“Without the truth shared from your lips, all I can express are presumptions. And questions. Except for you, of course, there are no kirins in Japan. So, why are you here and not on the mainland with your people? With your mother?”

The iridescence in her eyes burned brighter and her jaw clenched.

Mama nodded knowingly. “I don’t have to be a hanyou to understand their experience. To empathize with the isolation and rejection. Humanity also has unwanted children who are invisible except for the shame of their parents’ union.”

“Enough of your games,” the oyabun growled. She swept her hand across the table and sent her cup flying into the wall, shattering it. “Where is the daiyoukai and his allies?”

Unflinching, Mama watched her, her expression firm yet gentle. “This isn’t a game. This is how we end the cycle of pain.”

“The only pain that you should be concerned about is your own. Tell me where they are, or I will kill you.”

“I’m not afraid of you. I see you. I see everything about you.”

“You will tell me where they are.”

“I see a woman who terrorizes the forgotten people of this city because she resents the neglect of her own family.” 

“Shut up.”

“I see a woman who hides in a tower because she fears that the new family that she has created will reject her if they knew who she really was.” 

“Shut up.”

“And I see a woman who will destroy anyone and anything that threatens this fragile illusion because it’s all that she has left.”

The table disappeared. The wall boomed and splintered wood and plaster shrapnel sprayed everywhere. Her body weightless, Mama watched the floor fly away. The smell of fresh dry cleaning and expensive perfume filled her nose as she inhaled. Then her breath exploded from her as she slammed into the hallway wall. Like a vice, a hand gripped her by the throat and her toes scrabbled uselessly for a floor that was just out of reach.

A molten glare bore into her. “Shut. Up.”

“You might be a qilin now,” she gasped through sputtering coughs, “But a youkai heart beats beneath the spider that scars your chest.”

A shadowy copse of trees enveloped her. Half buried in the leaf clutter, a deer appeared, its body contorted and its eyes glassy and empty. Flies buzzed. And from its nose and mouth, maggots oozed and writhed.

As darkness encroached at the edges of her vision, Mama reached out to tenderly cup the oyabun’s cheek and rasped, “At some time in their life, every person who’s caught between two worlds wishes that they could shed half themselves to fully belong. And when the curse came and wiped out all youkai, you got your wish. I’m sorry that it wasn’t for the half of yourself that you wanted to be.”

The black overcame her, and her last thoughts were flooded with apologies. To her family. To her friends. To everyone she loved. She was supposed to survive.


	45. Totousai's Legacy

Chapter Forty-Five: Totousai's Legacy

The morning sun filtered in through old, rice paper windows, turning its light a soft gold. Its glow warmed Kagome's cheeks and sent her stirring from the kind of blissful sleep that only a plush futon and the dead quiet of the mountain could afford. Her eyelashes fluttered open and a satisfied yawn escaped from her lips. Languidly, she stretched, luxuriating in the seemingly endless bedding beneath her. She'd been so tired from hiking and cleaning that she hadn't even rolled in her sleep.

Another yawn came and she rubbed the bleariness from her eyes. After a few blinks, the beautiful wood ceiling overhead came into focus and she smiled. Tree knots and swirling woodgrain flowed together across the beams, creating lively patterns. It reminded her of cloud watching, where the longer she stared, the more she saw until the whole ceiling transformed into a tapestry of surreal beasts across an endless landscape.

A muffled laugh erupted from downstairs.

She blinked and the ceiling was just wood again.

After one last stretch, she sat up. While impeccably constructed, the room embodied a bareness that came with disuse. Though it had a lovely, antique dresser and desk, there was nothing else to fill the ample floor space, leaving it to feel like a room that once had a purpose but had been forgotten and lost to dust.

Another laugh echoed.

Throwing off her covers, she climbed to her feet and walked over to the dresser. The lacquered surface shined after the good dusting she gave it the night before, and she opened the drawers to pull out her clothes for the day. As she changed from her pajamas, she tapped the screen on her smartphone and it lit up, its background an old picture she'd taken of her friends from the Sengoku Jidai.

She frowned. No new message notifications cluttered the screen.

After running a brush through her hair, she slipped her phone into her pocket and headed for the door. As she slid it open, the refreshing mountain air welcomed her, nipping at her cheeks, and she breathed it in as she made her way along the walkway and down the stairs. The front door was open, cooling the shrine in preparation for the warm, summer day ahead. But it was the savory aroma of bacon in the kitchen that drew her in.

"Aw, c'mon," Tora chided lightheartedly, "Don't give me that look. This is me being curious, all right? I just have some questions that might benefit from some answers."

"Somehow I doubt your sincerity," Sesshoumaru remarked dryly.

A string of offended noises bubbled from him. "I'm being completely sincere. I can't believe that you're claiming that I'm being anything other than sincere. Souta-chan, did you hear what he's accusing me of? I'm just asking questions here."

"Don't drag me into this," Souta sighed.

"Look, I'm only trying to understand how this youkai transformation thing works."

Kagome entered through the doorway. "Do you mean when he turns into a giant dog?"

With its floor tiled in slate and its oak counters capped in granite, the kitchen continued the mountain motif that flowed throughout the shrine, an aesthetic that was amplified by the forest peeking through the open screen door at the end of the room. At a table crafted from knotted wood, Tora and Souta sat, their empty bowls waiting and a teapot between them. Standing beside the stove, Sesshoumaru tended to a pan sizzling with strips of pork belly.

"Yes!" Tora half-shouted and he reached over to pull out a chair out for her, "The giant dog thing! How does that work?"

"I don't know," she shrugged and took a seat. "He used to turn into a giant dog. That was pretty much it."

"So, was that like his true form or something?"

She glanced towards Sesshoumaru and he turned away to check on the rice cooker, confirming his input on the matter. Or lack thereof.

"Well?" Tora asked.

"I guess, it might be," she replied noncommittally as she leaned forward to grab the teapot and a cup. "I've only seen him do it twice."

"Seen him do it?! Does that mean you've seen him transform? That's so &%$#ing badass. What did it look like?"

"Let me think…" she pondered aloud. "Well, his eyes would turn all red and his youki would whip around him like a tornado." Then she made a pulling motion away from her face. "Ooh, and his nose and mouth would grow long like a muzzle."

"Awesome," Tora cooed, "Just like a werewolf."

"Yeah! Like a werewolf!" she agreed as she poured some tea into her cup. "And then poof, he was a giant dog. The first time he was dramatic about it, but the second time, he transformed quick."

He hummed thoughtfully, tapping his finger against his lips.

She took a sip from her cup.

"So, what happened to his clothes? Was his junk just out there swaying in the breeze for everyone to see?"

Tea sputtered from her mouth, swiftly followed by a coughing fit.

"This is why your sincerity is in doubt," Souta mentioned absently as he played a colorful game on his tablet.

"What?" Tora asked. "That was a perfectly logical question."

He set the tablet down and rolled his eyes. "Dogs don't wear clothes, so why would you ask if he was naked or not? Of course, he was naked. He was even naked in the mural we found."

"Fine," he acquiesced before doubling down, "But what happened to his clothes? Did he destroy them every time he transformed? Or did he get naked beforehand to avoid shredding them?"

Kagome wiped the tea from her chin with back of her hand and rasped, "No, they just disappeared and when he transformed back, they would reappear on his body."

"Really? Like magic?"

"His armor and swords, too."

"How the &%$# did that work?"

She shrugged, and then frowned thoughtfully. "He used to also have this big, fluffy boa thing that he wore, too. Sometimes he'd use it as a weapon to throw things or carry people. I never could figure out if it was a part of his body or something else altogether." She glanced towards the stove. "Sesshoumaru?"

Carrying plates loaded with crispy pork belly and pickled vegetables, he approached the table and set the dishes down.

"Sesshoumaru, about your fluffy—"

He flashed her a glare.

She hissed softly under her breath, "Never mind."

Returning to the counter, he retrieved the rice cooker and brought it to the table.

"Your meal is served," he announced coolly, "Though I'm debating about whether Tora should forage for his own breakfast this morning. The forest will provide if you know where to look." He looked at Tora and dripped with disdain. "And even if you're not a giant, naked dog."

"You're taking this way too seriously," Tora said, his hand inching towards a piece of pork belly while he still had a chance.

"And all of you have the strangest arguments," Bikini Girl piped up from the hallway. Wearing a sarong wrapped around her waist, she entered the kitchen arm-in-arm with Grandpa, their bearing one of companionable comfort.

Scowling, Grandpa added, "We could hear you debating about naked daiyoukai lords on what was meant to be a peaceful nature walk."

Together, they eyed Tora.

He looked away sheepishly, his cheeks pink. "Just random thoughts, okay?"

They continued to stare at him.

He sighed. "Look, it's so quiet up here and my mind wants to fill in the void, especially since there's no reception and I can't check up on their mom."

"Oh, you're not getting a signal either?" Kagome asked, breaking the tide of judgment. She pulled out her own phone to check it in vain once again.

"I think it's the mountains," he deduced as he retrieved his phone as well and then frowned in expected disappointment. "Maybe there's no coverage up here yet."

"It's more than that," Bikini Girl interjected. After giving Grandpa a gentle pat on his forearm, she unwound her arm from his care and took a seat at the head of the table. There she gathered up the bowls and began to fill the first one with rice. "You're all the perceptive type, I'm sure that you can put together why your fancy devices aren't getting a signal up here. And no, it's not related to cell towers or satellites. Or any other technology like that."

"The barrier," Sesshoumaru said as he helped Grandpa to his chair before sitting down on his own.

"Ah, the prize goes to the disciple," she announced brightly and with a wink, she sent the bowl of rice sliding across the table to him.

He caught it neatly.

"But I thought the barrier just kept out sound," Kagome said.

"Well, except for sight and touch, it was designed to dampen sensory information. Keep it from escaping," she explained as she filled the next bowl before passing it to her. "Its purpose was to hide this shrine in plain sight."

"So, that's why it was easy to pass through? I've never encountered a barrier that wasn't designed to deflect intruders physically."

She nodded, piling rice into another bowl. "A physical barrier radiates power. Even one that casts visual illusions has a certain thrum to it. When this place was built, such constructs worked like beacons to the supernaturally inclined." She gave her a toothy grin. "This barrier is just clever camouflage. Like quiet static on the radio. Hard to hear when music is always playing."

Kagome returned her smile and watched as she distributed more rice down the line until everyone had a bowl.

"Shall we eat?" Bikini Girl asked.

After a word of thanks, chopsticks darted towards the dishes like herons snatching up fish.

"Satisfactory work, disciple," she commended as she took a bite of pork belly. "It strikes just the right balance between tenderness and crispiness. At this rate, I think you'll be proving your way to receiving my final guidebook before the end of the day."

Sesshoumaru nodded a bow, his nearly imperceptible smile hinting at his pride.

Her words garbled by a mouthful of rice, Kagome asked, "If you don't mind sharing, I'd like to know who built this place and the barrier. Why go through this much trouble? What was here that needed to be protected by something like that?"

"Well, it's this shrine's namesake, of course," Bikini Girl replied with an eyebrow raised.

"Totousai?" she asked incredulously. "Our Totousai?"

"Does that surprise you?"

"I don't know…" she half-mumbled back, her face flushing with unexpected embarrassment. "He just seemed kind of absent-minded. He certainly knew how to make a good sword, but otherwise there wasn't much to him. And he definitely didn't strike me as someone who had anything to protect. I mean, other than his life." She shook her head in defeat. "I always thought of him as a sly but harmless loner who rode a weird cow."

She grinned. "Fascinating. I would have never imagined that I'd have a chance to meet someone who knew my most distant ancestor on my father's side."

Kagome nodded and then her brow furrowed. "Wait… What?"

Bikini Girl shrugged, her grin sharpening into a smirk. "Sixteen generations ago, this was Totousai's family home."

Her chopsticks clattered onto the table. "What?!"

Sesshoumaru snorted, reverence in his tone. "…That crafty bastard."

Bikini Girl laughed heartily. "Well, he is the root of that particular trait in the family line."

"I… I don't understand," Kagome sputtered as her memory clashed with this new reality. "He never mentioned having a family or a home in the mountains. Whenever he'd show up, it was always about the brothers and their swords. And dodging the pointy ends when necessary."

"He had one home that I was aware of," Sesshoumaru commented and gestured with his chopsticks, "But it was a pathetic hovel compared to this castle."

"It was likely the decoy," Bikini Girl remarked and began to chew thoughtfully on a piece of pork belly. "It was this place, that he built himself, that was his real home."

"Wow," Kagome sighed. "I can't believe he kept his actual home hidden from us. I thought we were friends."

She gave her a reassuring smile. "To my knowledge, Totousai wasn't a trickster for the sake of amusement or malice. His decision to hide his real home and family was an act of necessity. An effort made in a time when those with power stole the riches of others. Even those who would have been considered allies."

"Why would an ally steal from him?" she asked.

"Because they felt entitled to do it. That he owed it to them as a master weaponsmith and armorer. That they deserved tribute."

Kagome turned to Sesshoumaru.

He looked away.

Bikini Girl eyed them both.

"All right. Moving on," Kagome said, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. "If Totousai is your ancestor on your father's side and all youkai died out, then how are you here?"

"Ah," she sighed and leaned forward to pour herself a cup of tea, "That's because his greatest secret wasn't that he had a different home or even a family. It was that he had a human wife and little hanyou children."

She gasped.

"Perhaps you now understand why keeping them hidden was necessary. Essential to their survival. It wasn't simply a matter of them being perceived as a weakness to be exploited by those who wanted something from him…"

"…They were in danger for just existing. For being considered abominations."

Bikini Girl's eyes settled on Sesshoumaru.

He met her look, his expression inscrutable.

Kagome nodded thoughtfully. "But that also means that when the plague killed the youkai, his hanyou children were able to survive in their human forms."

Bikini Girl broke her gaze and took a sip of tea. "Yes. While Totousai fell to the plague, his children survived, carrying on his lineage and in many ways, his legacy as a weaponsmith. But it was more than that. There's a raw talent for craft in our family and from our meticulously kept records, I was able to capitalize on that knowledge and produce the first few guidebooks. However, for the more modern technology, I applied my own gifts and experience."

"Yeah, I don't think there were a lot of air conditioners in Feudal Japan," Tora joked.

Kagome blinked. "Records?"

Bikini girl nodded. "We have an extensive library here dating back through the Sengoku Jidai. Given your specific purpose in journeying here, I expected that you'd appreciate a tour of it after breakfast. And perhaps you'll find the answers you seek within its texts and scrolls."

She smiled. "I hope so."

"But before that," she said as she plucked a folded piece of paper from her bikini top, "I have an assignment for my disciple."

Sesshoumaru raised an eyebrow.

With it pinned between her fingers, she held it out to him. "On this paper, you'll find a comprehensive list of tasks that need attention. They will test your skills across a range of disciplines. But given your nature and abilities, I anticipate that you'll be no more than pleasantly challenged."

He took the paper and unfolded it. His eyes moved up and down as he read through the list.

"When you complete every task to my exceptionally high standards, then you'll have proven your worthiness and earned your apprenticeship. And at that point, I will share with you the final guidebook, so that you may make the tool that you need to protect your people."

He nodded. "It would be my honor."

"Good," she replied with a smirk.

"Let me see!" Souta insisted, reaching towards him and the paper.

He let him have it.

"Solar panel repair?" the boy blurted out.

Bikini Girl chuckled. "This deep in the mountains, the electric power has to come from somewhere, child."

"Is it okay if I help?" he asked.

"If my disciple doesn't mind, then I don't see why not."

With hope brightening his face, he looked at Sesshoumaru.

"If it will please you," he replied.

"Yes!"

"In that case," Tora spoke up, setting his chopsticks across his empty bowl, "I'm going to hike back down the mountain and see if I can get a signal on my phone. Maybe I can find out what's happening at home base."

Kagome nodded. "Sounds good."

"Well, everyone has their assignments then," Bikini Girl remarked as she rose to her feet and picked up her bowl.

"Wait," Grandpa interjected, "What's my assignment."

"Me," she replied with a wink.

He cooed.

And Kagome groaned.


	46. Reconciling the Past

Chapter Forty-Six: Reconciling the Past

Melding with the pine of the surrounding forest, the pungent scent of linseed oil flooded the air, swelling anew every time Kagome tipped its bottle to dribble some more onto her rag. With her hands working quickly, she rubbed the solution over the honey-colored railing, spreading the polish thin so that the woodwork shined but remained dry to the touch. And while she hadn’t seen Sesshoumaru since they cleaned up breakfast together earlier in the morning, she felt that he’d be subtly pleased with her work.

After a few more dribbles, the walkway railing ended with the warm glow of a rice-paper window. Leaning against its frame was an old dust mop, the paint on it wooden handle worn bare from use. Balancing the rag over the cap of the bottle, she set the wood oil down and took up the mop. The years of helping her mother clean their family home came in handy as she pushed it down the walkway, collecting detritus as she went. 

The swirling youkai murals flowed past her as she swept and her attention on her work started to slip. Lumbering ogres with odd numbered eyes and tangled centipedes weaving between trees, the artwork burst with bold colors and lines as though the paint hadn’t yet dried. As though with just a bit of imagination, they could leap from the panels and the world would be rich with their kind again.

“They’re only murals, dear,” a voice spoke up as warm and dry as the polished wood.

Kagome gasped and the dust mop handle rattled as it struck the floor. Looking over her shoulder, she spied Bikini Girl leaning comfortably against the railing, a sly smile hinting at her lips. “Oh, I didn’t hear you!”

“I’m not surprised,” she replied. “I know every creak in this shrine and there aren’t many.”

“I suppose there wouldn’t be,” she agreed and then bent down to pick up the mop handle. “It’s a beautiful shrine. And I must say having lived someplace almost as ancient, that while Totousai may have built the perfect home, it takes generations of care to keep it that way. I think he’d be very happy to know that his descendants valued his work enough to maintain it for so long.”

A genuine quality affected her smile and she nodded in appreciation. “Thank you. My family is honored by your compliment.”

Her attention drifted back to the murals and she shook her head in disbelief. “These murals alone are exquisite. I’ve seen a lot of youkai art and they always seem off. A little too inventive. Like scientists imagining what a prehistoric animal looked like from nothing more than its bones. Their guessing seems a bit ridiculous when you’ve seen them in person. When you’ve known them.”

“Sounds like you miss them,” Bikini Girl noted.

“I think before coming here, I missed people, both humans and youkai alike. People that I loved. Still love. I didn’t think that I missed the world, too. That I’d see these bright colors and realize how dull the modern times are without them.”

“I’d wager that they’re not too dull these days. Afterall, not every youkai has gone extinct.”

Kagome smiled gently and began to maneuver the mop, toying with the dust pile she had gathered. “Definitely not too dull now.” She snorted under her breath. “A year ago, if anyone had told me what a day in my life would be like now, especially given who’s at the center of it most of the time, I wouldn’t have believed them.”

Her sly smile returned. “You, a teenage girl who once travelled back and forth through time to Feudal Japan, wouldn’t believe your current circumstances? Are you really living a life more farfetched than what you had before?” 

“I guess it sounds ridiculous considering what I’ve been through since I fell through the well the first time and when it comes to my purpose, even though it’s the present day, the stakes feel the same. Dire but not hopeless.”

“Then what’s different?”

A sigh escaped her. “The only thing that’s truly different I suppose is the man at the center of it all.”

“My disciple.”

“Yeah,” Kagome replied, and she started to nudge the dust pile into a new shape. “Before, I couldn’t even conceive of him as a friend. At best, he was a reluctant ally and at worst, he tried to melt me with acidic youki once. He and Inuyasha were half-brothers, but to be honest I never saw the resemblance. Sure, they both had gold eyes and their hair was kind of similar in color, but beyond that, they were worlds apart.”

“Inuyasha?”

“He was a hanyou. He and Sesshoumaru were family through their father who had bequeathed them a pair of swords forged by Totousai. They constantly fought over the swords, but it was pretty clear from the beginning that only one of them had been unhappy with their inheritance.”

“A daiyoukai always demands more,” Bikini Girl remarked with a smirk. “Perfection to his own lofty standards.”

“You’re probably right,” she agreed, “Those fights left me with a strong impression of who Sesshoumaru was as a person. To the point that when I found him sealed a year ago, I was tempted to leave him lost to time. Callous. Cruel. Resentful. Entitled. Classist. These were all flaws that he embodied. Flaws that alienated him from his family. Even cost him his left arm for a time. But now…”

She looked at her expectantly.

“Now, they have so much in common that I can’t help but see their resemblance. Sure, the finer details are different, but their compassion for others and their loyalty to the important people in their lives are undeniable. They’re both heroes. Brothers who’d risk their lives for the greater good because it’s the right thing to do. I admire them.”

With a sparkle in her eye, Bikini Girl chuckled.

“What?”

“I’m certain that your feelings go well beyond admiration, my dear.”

Rosiness highlighted Kagome’s cheeks. “No, you have the wrong idea. Completely the wrong idea. I don’t feel that way about Sesshoumaru at all.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied skeptically.

“And I—” she stuttered, changing tactics, “And I can’t love him, because my heart belongs to someone else. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”

“And where is that someone who keeps your heart?”

Kagome looked down at the pile on the floor. A single, silver hair lay entwined in the detritus and she thought about her spacious room and its scant furniture layered in dust. Remnants of the past.

Bikini Girl waited patiently.

“He’s frozen in time, five hundred years ago,” she admitted softly. “There, he’s peering into the dry well, waiting for me to return.”

“A heart isn’t meant to be entrusted to the past. Like you said, the past is frozen. Static. To abandon your heart there is to abandon it in a tomb.”

“And if the well opens again and I choose to return to the past to play this role Sesshoumaru remembers me taking, what then?”

She smiled. “Then this world becomes your new past and you take your heart with you.”

Kagome snorted. “You make it sound like I’m some sort of vagabond migrating to new places.” 

“You might be,” Bikini Girl laughed. “Your path exists beyond the currents of time and you, more than anyone, know what it means to lead multiple lives with only your memories and connections to others as the through line of your story.”

“I never thought about it like that.”

“No one else has led the life that you have,” she assured before turning to spy down at the first floor below. Leaning heavily on his broom, Grandpa slowly swept the entryway clean, a playful hitch in his step and a hum on his lips. “But many have learned to carry their hearts with them when they realize that it’s time to move on. When who and what they love are nothing more than memories and they’ve found something new to give it to.”

Kagome spied over the railing at him and smiled. “I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time.”

“Well, I’m sure he’ll be even happier later.”

Her face soured. “Ugh, I didn’t need to know that.”

A laugh erupted from her and the long, gray curls that framed her face shook. “You should be happy for your grandfather and his ability to still get it.”

“Stop,” she pleaded. “How did we even get on this topic?”

With her laughter sobering to a smile, Bikini Girl pushed off the railing and approached one of the murals. Embedded in the panel was a handle and when she pulled on it, a hidden door slid open, revealing a room. Strewn in haphazard piles, the space was thick with scrolls and tomes, each faded and fuzzy by layers of dust and cobwebs. Inlaid in the walls were long rows of shelving half filled with leaning books, and below them velvet-lined drawers jutted open, their contents missing.

“Wow,” Kagome murmured as she peered in.

“All our talk about the past being a tomb has a certain literal slant here,” she commented as she entered the library, her bare feet leaving prints on the floor as she walked. “Despite making my living as a guidebook author, I haven’t spent much time or effort in here. At my age, preserving the grounds consumes most of my energy. But the purpose behind this place, the real reason why my family line cares for this shrine isn’t because it’s dedicated to a god. Or even to Totousai. It’s because of what lies in this library. It’s here that you’ll find all that remains of youkaikind.”

Setting the broom against the railing, she stepped through the threshold to join her. With wordless reverence, she explored the room, poring over each pile of literature as if they were exhibits in a museum. “It’s amazing,” she whispered.

“It’s a mess,” Bikini Girl replied, blowing out a breath. “I have an idiot nephew who once fancied himself a fantasy writer to blame for this. He’s since been banned.”

Kagome smirked as she ran her finger along one of the shelves, revealing the glossy wood finish beneath. “Is this your price?”

She raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“If I clean up this library, then I can read and research whatever I like?”

Another laugh burst from her. “No, my dear. You can read and research whatever you like here without qualification. There’s no price attached. Or test as is the case for my disciple. No one has deserved the knowledge archived here more than you and I would dishonor my ancestors if I forced you to clean it up before granting you access.” Then she gave her an impish look. “But if you happened to leave it in better shape than you found it, I’d appreciate it.”

Her smile broadened into a grin. “I think I can manage that.”

“Thank you,” she said, nodding a polite bow. Then her mouth gaped open slightly, waiting for words that were uncharacteristically failing her. “Just understand that… That if your path really does weave its way back to the Sengoku Jidai again, being a witness for the end of a race isn’t an easy fate. What you discover here may make that future even harder to bear.”

“Maybe,” Kagome agreed before picking up a set of leather-bound books and setting them upright on a shelf. “After so many years sealed, I’m not sure if it’s me that Sesshoumaru remembers from the past. But if I really do return to that world and there’s a tidbit of knowledge here that could make a difference, then it’s my duty to find it. And maybe, all that’s left of youkaikind will be more than some old books secreted away in a mountain shrine.”

“I hope so, my dear. I hope so.”

OOOOOOOOOO

With a carpenter’s pencil behind his ear, Sesshoumaru stared at the lump of aspen held fast in a vise on the table in front of him. Light in color and the size of a shoebox, he had begun to transform the once simple block of wood, contouring its shape and hollowing it out on one side. Earlier, when he had come in search for tools to fix one of the pagoda eaves, he’d discovered it. Seen it neglected on a shelf in the shrine’s shop. He had made a mental note to come back for it, because in its beautiful grain, he’d also seen its potential, its purpose, and something that he needed.

From chisels to files, a collection of woodworking tools lay in a neat row beside his project, organized by size and type. His hand hovered over them as he considered each carefully. Then with a slight nod, he picked up a file and set to work. Wood dust sprinkled the table.

With practiced ease, he switched between tools as he slowly revealed the face hidden in the wood. He exposed its snarling maw and angry brow. He found the reflection that he missed. The one that had called to him from the shrine mural.

And as he spun the handle on the vise to loosen its jaws on the half-finished mask, he heard the soft footsteps of someone approaching. If he hadn’t possessed exceptional hearing, he wouldn’t have heard her at all, a testament to her skill.

“What are you up to?” Bikini Girl asked as she leaned inside the shop’s doorway, her arms crossed against her chest and a book in her hand.

Raising an eyebrow, he spied back at her, regarding her briefly before looking to his hand and the mask it held. “I finished your task list sooner than anticipated,” he explained, “I decided that, with the remaining time, I would work to regain something important that was lost to me recently.”

“Ah,” she cooed, then stepped into the shop. With her lips pursed, she walked towards him, her attention on the mask. 

He held it out for her to inspect.

“Exceptional work as expected,” she remarked as she peered down at it. “Your craft is fast and clean while still maintaining the utmost quality. If you were human, I’d be envious.”

He snorted. “It’s your instruction that has guided my skill. You’d only be envying yourself.”

She laughed heartily. “You have a very backhanded way of conferring compliments, disciple. The truth is that teaching the proper methods for a craft and having the innate talent of executing them to perfection can be mutually exclusive. And I need not mention that your ability to innovate and improve upon that guidance is yet another quality worthy of envy.”

He gave her a fleeting smirk. 

And she mirrored it in kind.

He took the mask and placed it back in the vise, tightening the jaws until it gripped it firmly. “Given how simple this project is compared to the tasks that you assigned to me earlier, I had expected that you would be more interested in its subject than in its execution.”

“I am,” she agreed. “But sometimes I like to start with praise.”

Taking up the file, he began his work on the unfinished half.

“Why a mask?” she asked bluntly.

“It’s my symbol,” he explained, appreciating her straightforwardness. “A reminder of who I was and an attempt to recapture my past glory. At first, I wore it to protect my identity and thus spare my new family from an enemy’s retribution. However, now I wear it as a promise. As a connection that binds me to the community that I protect. They call me the Demon of Namidabashi and this is the face of their hero. Their guardian.”

“It hasn’t always been the face of a hero.”

His file paused and he replied thoughtfully, “No, it hasn’t. But that’s the nature of symbols. They’re designed to be evaluated, broken down, and remade.”

“And the same goes for a daiyoukai who failed to serve his people?”

“Perhaps.” He rolled the file back and forth in his hand, then turned to face her. “Everyday is an opportunity to learn. To rethink one’s perceptions. To recognize an old act of foolishness and cruelty.”

She looked at him expectantly.

“It was my long-held belief that power and respect within youkai social hierarchies were fair, because they were based on what I understood as a natural order. That all species were meant to serve those more powerful than themselves. So as a daiyoukai, I demanded their service, but it’s only now that I realize that they were never meant to provide for me. That I, as a lord, was meant to provide for them. 

“Being here has made that revelation a reality. To see the efforts that Totousai made to protect his family from men like myself and to face the truth that what I considered tribute to my station in the past was not willingly given. That I didn’t deserve what I considered mine.

“As I’m unable to apologize to the man himself, I will instead express my regret to you, his descendant both in blood and in craft. I did him many disservices during his lifetime and I intend to make amends through supporting this shrine, but also by embracing my role as the guardian that I should have been. It’s my hope that this vow will be to your satisfaction.”

She chuckled under her breath. “You are easily the most low-effort disciple a master could ever ask for. All I must do is stand in a room and you teach yourself.”

He shrugged.

“I accept your apology. I imagine Totousai would be immensely honored by your vow.”

“He would more likely be immensely shocked.”

“Probably so,” she laughed, then her expression softened to a smile and she considered the ancient book in her hand. Bound on the right-hand side by a cord of sinew, it was thick with yellowed pages and protected by an old, leather cover. Stamped in gold, the front read:

_Totousai’s Basic Guide to Enchanted Weaponsmithing_

With a nod, she held the book out to him. “You’ve proven yourself worthy, in craft, in deeds, and in spirit. I can think of no one, even within my own family line, who’s shown that they’re more deserving of this knowledge than you, Sesshoumaru. I hope that within its pages you’ll find the power that you need to protect the people and the community that you love.”

Setting the file down, he approached her and the book, and with polite reverence, he accepted her gift and bowed.

She reflected his gesture, bowing in return.

Mindful of its age, he opened the book carefully and slowly flipped through its pages. His fingers reveled in the feel of real, handcrafted paper and his eyes slowly adjusted to the writing that had poured from a hand and not from a machine. While Totousai’s talent for weaponsmithing was undeniable, his penmanship was severely lacking. A smile hinted at his lips. He hadn’t expected to find joy in imperfection, but in a world where the impeccable is often manufactured, the awful scrawling was refreshing to behold.

His skimming eyes stopped, and he flipped back and forth between several of the pages.

“What is it?” she asked.

He held the book out for her to see.

“Hmm…” she hummed, then spied up at him. “That’s a dangerous weapon to wield, especially for someone in your position. Are you certain that this is what you want? It could kill you.”

He nodded. “I’m certain.”

She blew out a breath. “Well, you did bring two fangs with you… But it will need something more. Something infused with meaning. Something symbolic of your purpose.”

Glancing back, he looked at the mask bound in the vise.

“No, that hasn’t experienced battle. Its symbolism is superficial and untested.”

Their gazes drifted away from the mask to the end of the table. There lay his crowbar, still bent in half.

“That’s what you need.”


	47. Finding Resolve

Chapter Forty-Seven: Finding Resolve

Detective Nakagawa stood at the crest of the concrete stairs.

Under the sweltering heat of the mid-afternoon sun, his skin streamed with sweat, drenching him along his unbuttoned collar and under his arms. Overpowering his deodorant, the stink of his musk orbited him like a cloud, offending his nose until he couldn’t smell it anymore. He reached up, plucking his battered fedora from atop his head, and ran his fingers through his slick hair. Then he put his hat back on, his bangs pasted to his forehead.

What was he doing here?

Nestled on a hill in a dense residential neighborhood, a quaint Shinto shrine lay before him. Its courtyard was dappled by the shade of the lofty trees that studded the grounds, all of which were dwarfed by the massive tree on the far side. Flanked by granite lanterns, stone-lined pathways crisscrossed the area, converging towards the two-story home that stood at the center of the grounds.

His attention drifted downward to the pathway at his feet and a knot tightened in his chest. What was he doing here?

After wiping his hand dry on the front of his suit vest, he stuffed it into the coat he had draped over his arm and pulled out his smartphone. His thumb slid in a pattern over the screen, unlocking it, and he opened the text he’d received the day before. Again, he read through the plea. The gratitude for his help weeks earlier. The belief that because of his act that he was a good person. The mention of the yakuza and their supernatural oyabun. The call for his help one more time. And an address deep in the mountains of the Saitama prefecture.

Since he had received the text, he’d read it so often that he was certain that he could recite it without looking. And still, he found himself pulling it up to read again. When he had decided to give the demon his business card, this wasn’t what he had in mind, though if he thought about it, he hadn’t had anything in mind except for a few questions that needed answers. Questions that had multiplied since the video of the demon’s escape from a collapsed parking structure emerged on social media the day before.

Without thought, he exited the text app and tapped on the phone icon. He scrolled through his contacts until the name ‘Jin, Fumiko’ appeared. His thumb hovered over the call button beside it. 

Then he clicked the phone off and dropped it back into his coat pocket.

The evidence he had was a text from a number that never replied and where all his calls ended instantly with a generic voicemail. And while he’d been able to do a basic search for a name and an address, that had been the end of it. No criminal history or abnormal activity. Nothing to follow up on but a hunch. That wouldn’t be enough for his by-the-book partner and she was too sharp not to wonder why he was sent the text to begin with. Still, in his opinion, if someone was in danger, his career didn’t mean as much as their life.

With his palm, he dried his face of sweat. Then he nodded, girding his resolve, and headed down the pathway.

Birds flitted overhead, twittering as they hopped between branches. Between their songs and the rush of the surrounding city, there were no other signs of life. Yellow and gold, leaves lay scattered about the grounds, the only clutter to be seen at an otherwise immaculately kept shrine. While he was no gardener, it seemed like no more than a couple days’ worth of leaf fall. As if the family had taken a weekend vacation and would be back any minute. 

Then the knot in his chest swelled.

As he approached the front door, he noticed that it sat wide open, leaves from the yard filling the entryway to the house. Blindly, he untucked the lanyard that held his badge from his vest and it swung loosely against his abdomen.

“Hello!” he shouted as he walked cautiously towards the open door, keeping his profile narrow and guarded. “Is anyone home?!”

The house answered back with silence.

“My name is Detective Nakagawa Eiji,” he continued, holding his badge up to the shadowy entryway. “I’m with the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. We received an emergency call from this address. Is anyone home?”

The silence persisted.

Slowly, he approached the doorway, his lack of a search warrant drumming in the back of his mind. A fly buzzed past his head. And then another. The stench of something rotten wrinkled his nose.

“Hello?!” he shouted again, his badge still in hand. “I’m coming inside. Don’t be alarmed. I’m here to help.”

A cool shadow fell over him as he crossed the threshold of the doorway and entered the house. Inside, he could hear an overtaxed air conditioner whine, struggling to keep up with the invading summer’s day. In the hallway ahead, he noticed splintered wood and chunks of plaster scattered across the floor, and he instinctively dug into his pant’s pocket and pulled out a pair of latex gloves. Something bad had happened here and he didn’t need the additional shame of contaminating the crime scene.

Like a spider’s web, cracks radiated along the hallway wall from a large, triangular point of impact. Without touching, he traced it. Then his eyes widened. A head and a pair of shoulders had struck the wall well above a normal person’s height and as he scanned downwards, he spotted two dents in the shape of human heels. Someone had been thrown against the wall and held there. It wasn’t necessarily a superhuman effort, but it required a tremendous amount of strength. And he thought about the shaky video of a concussed demon tossing a policeman away as if he were nothing more than an annoyance.

He blinked away the memory.

Using the dented wall as a guide, he looked across the hallway to discover a family room. Or what remained of one. Mindful of the debris, he walked carefully inside. Alongside plaster and drywall, he found more splintered wood strewn about the floor, its source at the farthest side of the room where most of a table hung embedded in the wall.

Something crunched under his shoe.

And an expletive rolled from his tongue. 

If Yoshino, their best forensic lead, saw him now, she’d never give him the scoop on a crime scene ever again. 

Carefully, he lifted his shoe and underneath, he discovered shards from a ceramic teapot. Sprinkled amid the debris, he discovered more pieces. Teacup fragments. A shattered tea tray. And swarming with flies, the splattered remains of a cake. He knelt beside a bulbous belly of the teapot and turned it over. A clump of tea leaves poured out, still damp. The woman who had sent him the text had welcomed her attacker. Maybe attempted to reason with them. But ultimately, it wasn’t enough.

His eyes widened. Across the floor where the table had once sat, he spied a dark stain. His gaze fixed, he slowly rose to his feet and picked his way to it. It was reddish-brown, almost black, in color and he fumbled for the phone in his coat. Jin’s number appeared on the screen and he nearly hit the call button when he noticed something curious. The blood was dry. He looked back at the broken teapot and the wet mush of tea leaves beside it. His attention returned to the blood stain. It was generous in size, suggesting that whoever spilled it had been seriously injured. And it didn’t appear old either, so for it to have dried before the tea leaves meant that it had happened before the fight.

He remembered watching a bloodied man climb a building, a girl cradled in one arm.

“Being a demon is hazardous work,” he muttered to himself and wiped away at the sweat that dampened his brow with the back of his forearm.

The knot in his chest softened.

If it wasn’t the woman’s blood, then there was a chance that she could still be alive. That she had been taken instead. And that meant that there was also a chance that she could be saved. His eyes fell to his phone and he opened her text again, reading its familiar plea. He paused at the mention of a supernatural oyabun, a beast more powerful than the demon whose home he stood in, and he knew that he had a decision to make. As a detective and member of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, his purpose was to protect and seek justice for the people of the city.

Looking around, he took in the shattered remains of the room and the battered hallway.

This woman and the city needed his help, and he needed a hero.

OOOOOOOOOO

The black emptiness of dreamless sleep wrapped Mama in its void, its embrace neither warm nor cold. There she hung, frozen, waiting for change. She was always the one who waited. She had waited for her husband on the night that he didn’t come home. She had waited for her daughter every time she had leapt into the dry well. She had waited for the newest members of her family whenever they left to patrol the city. And now she waited for the darkness that enveloped her to recede. Because if she had learned anything in life it’s that waiting is never eternal. It always ends. And she was ever patient.

The soft rush of air conditioning blowing through a vent penetrated the silence and she felt her existence gain shape and weight. Texture came next as the softness of silk tickled her skin. Then, she inhaled, and the bright scent of lavender filled her lungs, a pleasant lure to consciousness.

Slowly, her eyelashes fluttered open and a white blur greeted her vision.

She blinked a few times before reaching out from beneath her covers to rub the sleep from her eyes. An unfamiliar plaster ceiling came into focus and as she lay in the deep plush of her bedding, she looked around. In luscious hues of green, exquisite, forest-themed murals flowed across a wall of rice paper. And on the other side, she spied the jagged crests of skyscrapers, glowing gold in the late-afternoon light. 

She sighed gently. The skyline brought her unexpected comfort in a strange place and it took her a hazy moment to realize why. It was downtown Tokyo and the mystery of where exactly she had woken up deepened.

Not content to lay in bed and wonder, she moved to sit up.

And white-hot agony struck her back down.

A groan escaped her as she lay writhing, pain radiating through her shoulders and spine and thundering inside her skull. She remembered now. What happened before the darkness had taken her. Burning, opalescent eyes. She had pushed too far.

A light knock tapped against the rice paper wall and before she could speak, a hidden door slid open. In its gap, a young woman in an elegant kimono waited.

“Higurashi-san,” she greeted with a deferential bow. “My name is Yukina. Allow me to assist you.”

“Uh, no,” Mama replied, waving her off. “I just need a moment, um… Yukina-chan.”

She stepped into the room and shut the door behind her with a soft clap. “I must insist. It’s my duty to attend to you during your stay.”

“I appreciate that, but—”

“I have ibuprofen,” she interrupted, producing a pair of tablets in one hand and a cup of water in the other.

Mama frowned thoughtfully. 

Palm up, Yukina waved her bribe enticingly.

She sighed wearily. “You win.”

“We both do.” 

In a rustle of silk, Yukina crossed the room and then with impeccable poise, she knelt beside her with the pills and brimming cup outstretched.

Warily, Mama picked up the tablets and examined the printing on their surface. It’s not that she expected that they would poison her. She was certain that if the oyabun wanted her dead then she wouldn’t have ever woken up. But it didn’t hurt to check. Finding everything in order, she threw the pills into her mouth and chased it with water. And it wasn’t until she had tipped her head back to lap up the very last drop that she realized how thirsty she was.

“Once I’ve helped you dress,” Yukina assured in a pink-lipped smile, “I’ll bring you some more water. However before then, I promised Oya-sama that I would see you to your duty as soon as you wakened.”

A flurry of questions hit her at once, sending her mumbling, “Wait… what?”

“You needn’t worry,” she soothed as she leaned over. Folded in a neat pile on the polished floor beside the bedding was a fine kimono and obi sash along with assorted hygiene products. She plucked up the undergarments and rearranged what remained in the order of dressing. “You’re a guest here and will be treated well.”

“I don’t even know where to begin with that.”

“Begin with why you reluctantly accepted pain relief. Having nothing more than bruises is proof of her mercy. It’s not a quality that the yakuza, let alone the Shikai Clan, are known for.”

“Be thankful that I’m alive is what you’re saying?” Mama asked, raising an eyebrow. “Trapped in what I imagine is a modern-day fortress and assigned to some mysterious duty?”

“Is the alternative better?”

She frowned. 

Yukina waited.

“I suppose not.”

Her expression gentle, she held out the undergarments for her to take.

And Mama accepted them. With a grimace, she shed the yukata robe she was wrapped in and slipped on the bra and underwear. Reaching out, she grasped Yukina’s forearm for balance as she climbed to her feet. The kimono was next, and she shrugged into it, finding it to be a perfect fit. Then lastly, she secured the sash around her waist, finishing the look.

“Beautiful,” Yukina purred as she fussed over each fold and smoothed out every wrinkle. She picked up a pearl-handled brush and ran it through Mama’s hair, blending away her bedhead. When she was done, she stepped back and nodded with satisfaction. “Perfect.”

Mama blew out a breath. She knew how to wait, because the key to waiting is that it never lasts forever. So, she could be patient. She could bide her time. Because opportunities always arise, and when they do, she knew how to seize them.

“Are you ready, Higurashi-san?” Yukina asked.

Smiling kindly, she looked at her. “Why yes. Yes, I am.”


	48. Quid Pro Quo

Chapter Forty-Eight: Quid Pro Quo

With the silk of their clothing rustling as they walked, the two women made their way down the hallway. Polished wood floors and endless murals flowed past them, enveloping them in a forested glen thick with inky branches and deep greens. But the serene imagery was lost on Mama. Her eyes only regarded one thing: her guide's poised frame gliding a few steps ahead of her.

A frown etched Mama's face, born of both wariness and weariness. Every probing question she had posed to the young woman had been masterfully deflected until there was only the sound of soft footfalls between them. What the oyabun wanted from her remained a mystery and despite her pressing for more information, she wasn't sure that she wanted to know the answer. To know what purpose she held that was more valuable than her death.

Yukina's pace slowed and she stopped beside one of the murals. "We're here, Higurashi-san."

Mama swallowed.

"Do your injuries still hurt?" she asked.

She blinked. "What?"

"Did the pain medication help? Do you still hurt?"

"Uh," she mumbled, then turned her neck from side-to-side. While a mild ache remained, most of her range of motion had returned. With a polite bow, she nodded, "It feels much better. Thank you."

A gentle smile warmed her face and she bowed in reply. "Good. I'm glad."

Mama looked at her expectantly.

"I…" she began.

Drudging up what warmth she could muster, she smiled at her. "Go on."

But no more words came.

Instead, she looked to the mural and gave the panel a soft rapt. Then with the voice she had momentarily lost, she called out, "Excuse me? I have Higurashi-san with me. May we come in?"

"Yes," a voice answered. "Bring her in."

"Yes, sir," Yukina replied and her delicate fingers slid along the panel until they found a hidden handle. Smoothly, she slid door open.

The brilliance of a summer's day in downtown Tokyo bathed them in light as they stood in the doorway. With the same panoramic view of the cityscape beyond, the room reminded Mama of where she had woken up in, except here there was furniture. Upholstered in dark green, leather armchairs flanked antique tables topped with beautifully kept bonsai trees and bright floral arrangements. As exquisite as the murals that framed the hallway, shogi screens portraying spring meadows divided the space, and as they entered the room, she discovered why.

In stark contrast with the traditional opulence, she spied the hard plastic and metal of a hospital bed at the far side of the room. Bundled to the waist under crisp, white sheets, a man with his arms crossed against his chest glared at her.

"This is her?" he asked, his tone harder than his piercing eyes.

At the window as she gazed out at the city, a woman's silhouette moved, her cascade of braids swaying with the motion.

Mama's breath caught in her throat.

"Yes," the oyabun replied coolly.

The man snorted. "I had expected someone… bigger."

She gave him a flat look, then turned enough to peer at the two women. "She's more formidable than she appears."

Lightly nudging, Mama felt a hand at the small of her back. Yukina, with her eyes averted, pressed her forward, guiding her towards the waiting oyabun. As they walked, Mama caught her reflection in the glossy finish of a passing coffee table. Fear gritted her teeth and widened her eyes. It etched her with a hardness that she didn't recognize, aging her. She thought she had dealt with the fear. First at home in the hallway mirror and again when she had woken up here. It had taken nothing more than the kirin's voice and her shadow to undo it all. To wear her nerve until it frayed.

She swallowed dryly.

"I still don't know why you brought her here," he wondered aloud, waving his hand dismissively. "I could have sent some men to torture her. Kill her perhaps. Either outcome would have drawn the demon and his companions out. Made them reckless and our lives easier."

"And how is that a path untaken with her being here?" the oyabun asked, unfazed. "She has more use to me alive in this moment than broken or dead. When that ceases to be the case, then I will take care of it myself."

"Oya-sama…"

"Enough, Ishida."

Mama's mind raced. She was alive because she still held value. The others would return eventually, whether she was alive or dead, so what made her important to the oyabun went beyond Sesshoumaru, Kagome, or Tora.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Perhaps she hadn't pushed her too far at the shrine the day before. Instead, it was possible that she cracked the armor, revealing the tenderness underneath. In her desperate move to protect her family, she had found the person inside the beast. Her instincts had been right.

Like the sea breeze on a hot afternoon, serenity flowed over her, soothing away her fear. Her expression softened and her posture opened up. While they may have stripped her of her agency, they had failed to steal what made her dangerous, words and wit. The oyabun was right. She was formidable. And she wanted to cry, too. To let her tears fall. To be vulnerable and cared for. But there would be time for that later when she was safe in the arms of her loved ones.

"Yukina," the oyabun said, gesturing towards the doorway. "Please wait outside until bidden."

"Yes, my lady," she replied, bowing courteously before turning around to leave. She gave Mama a reassuring pat on the arm as she slipped past and left the room. The door slid shut with a soft clap.

Completely relaxed, Mama looked up at the oyabun, regarding her with calm dignity. Then she offered her own bow, mindful that it wasn't as deep as Yukina's. "My lady, you requested my presence?"

The oyabun eyed her, her face inscrutable. "Yes, Higurashi-san."

With her chin slightly tilted up, Mama waited.

"As you've no doubt surmised," she explained as she walked along the line of windows, graceful in her bare feet, "You are a lure. Bait for the daiyoukai and his allies. That you are not dead is but my whim."

"This is your castle."

She nodded to her. "And you are my guest for as long as you are useful."

"And, my lady, if I may ask, why am I useful?"

She paused, thoughtfulness pursing her lips. "I have questions."

Mama frowned. "Questions? If they're about the location of my family—"

The oyabun scoffed. "As I stated, you're a lure. However, if that was all that mattered, then you would have never woken up. Ishida is correct. If you were left broken or dead where I found you, vengeance would have brought the demon and the others to me with a bit of patience. It's a fact that remains the same by bringing you here as my guest. But what does change is that now I can ask you questions."

"I see," she replied, her gaze drifting to the cityscape. Fluttering white and gray, a flock of pigeons flew in the distance, tiny beside the massive skyscrapers. Her attention returned to the oyabun. "If I agreed, would you be amenable to me asking you questions in return?"

She considered her silently.

"You're under no obligation to answer if you deem my questions inappropriate or offensive. In exchange, I will do my best to answer any that you pose except those that would betray the safety of my family."

She snorted lightly. "Quid-pro-quo?"

"A conversation."

The oyabun lingered, weighing her proposal. Then she strolled towards an antique armchair and sat down, putting one foot up on a coffee table as she lounged. With an elegant flick of her wrist, she gestured to another chair beside the table. "Sit."

Adopting the poise worthy of her exquisite kimono, Mama sat primly across from her, her hands folded neatly on her lap.

The oyabun gazed at her with eyes as dark and lustrous as polished onyx. "As my guest, you may ask first."

She blinked, taken aback.

With her expression remaining a mask, she waited.

"I…" she began, searching for a question that she hadn't had time to formulate. Then it struck her and the knot of fear she had undone a moment ago tried to retie itself again. "You've mentioned repeatedly that I'm your guest and that my role is that of a lure, but I was also informed me that you had another job in mind for me." She paused. "What is it?"

A smirk hinted at her lips. "It's not a task that should cause you distress."

"Given your yakuza clan's treatment of girls and women in the past, I don't find that reassuring or satisfactory."

Under the gray cast of a cloudy day, a raindrop splashed across the green of a fresh spring leaf. A rivulet of water slipped down the leaf's midrib, beading at the tip until it dripped and fell away.

"I suppose not," the oyabun conceded and she rested her temple against her fingertips. "And I doubt that your fears would be assuaged much if I added that you're outside the age range for most of our business dealings anyways."

Mama's lips pressed into a hard line. "Are you answering my question or passing on it, my lady?"

She sighed, her disappointment evident. "Most of the Shikai is an amalgamation of smaller and weaker clans that were unable to achieve much on their own, both in terms of business and prestige. Many of the newer members are feral and small-minded. They have base desires. Money. Power. Vengeance. If they learned that a connection to their most hated enemy was currently being held captive in this tower, their interest in you would be greater than I care for. So, to disguise your presence, you'll be serving as a caregiver for my second-in-command, Ishida."

"Keeping her here at all is a mistake, Oya-sama," he spoke up fervently.

She tipped her head back to eye him.

"Please let me take care of it. I have some men that I trust. They will handle this _security risk_ discreetly and in whatever manner that you wish."

"Hush," she scolded him staidly. "This is the plan. I'll tolerate no further objections. Are we clear on that?"

He sat back in his bed and looked away, his gaze on the city.

Her attention returned to Mama and she raised an eyebrow. "Was that answer satisfactory?"

She watched her, as if waiting for a statue to breathe. Then she nodded.

"Good," she replied. "My turn. Why does your shrine exhibit such strange power?"

Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Are you referring to the aura that I mentioned when you first visited?"

"Yes."

She hummed to herself. "Well, it's never been proven, but I believe it has to do with our shrine's two ancient features from centuries past. The first is Goshinboku, the sacred tree, and other is the Bone-Eater Well. As you're well aware, power is divided between the divine and the primal. The heavens and the earth. Goshinboku represents one half as it reaches into the sky and the Bone-Eater Well represents the other as it delves deep into the ground. With both so close together, they form a hybridized bridge that unites both powers, providing sanctuary for everyone. Even youkai."

She snorted softly. "I see."

"The shrine is my ancestral home, but I barely feel the power. For most humans, except for those touched by the divine, it's not noticeable at all. For you though, being a hanyou of your lineage, I imagine that it might be rather profound and moving."

With their spindly, white trunks cracked with black, a copse of birch trees stood enveloped by mist. Then a light tapping broke the stillness. Rain began to fall, pattering against the bed of dried leaves that covered the forest floor.

"Your question," the oyabun said coolly.

Mama paused, hoping for more. But the piercing intensity of her dark eyes was all that she received. "As you wish, my lady," she said finally, nodding in acquiescence. "My next question is: What's your name?"

A flicker of surprise ghosted across the oyabun's face, so quick that Mama thought she imagined it. As she waited, the ensuing silence lingered to the point of discomfort. Breathing through her nose, she pushed the ill feeling down and her patience persevered.

"My name is Oya."

With eyebrows raised, she looked at her, her awe apparent. "You're an oyabun named Oya? Is that where—"

She scoffed, interrupting her. "My name isn't the origin of the title. That's nothing more than an apropos coincidence. My father named me after a goddess from a region now known as Nigeria. He travelled there in his youth and was struck by her nature. A warrior-goddess who commanded violent storms and fire. A guardian who presided over death and rebirth. When I was born, he saw that same spirit in me and so I was named. It's the only gift I have left from him."

"It's a lovely one. Thank you for sharing it with me."

Oya pursed her lips, a reply perching at the tip of her tongue. And then it was gone, cast away, as her stoicism returned. Her attention, though, did not. Her eyes drifted somewhere else. Someplace far away in space and time.

"It's your turn," Mama offered with a polite wave of her hand, "My lady."

Her finger tapped her temple.

"Oya-sama?"

Her eyes snapped back, sharp and clear.

"It's your turn."

With a smoothness that suggested that she had never left, she asked, "How did you know that I wished to be a youkai rather than a celestial beast when I was young?"

"Aside from luck and a fifty-fifty chance given the two possibilities?" she replied, warmly suppressing a knowing smile. "You live in Japan, a country that once teemed with youkai. There's something in the land, perhaps even in our warrior culture, that created a haven for them. And likewise, repelled the interest of the celestial beasts that prefer the mainland. If I could wager, I'd bet that you're the only kirin on these islands and that it has been so for centuries. You're at home here and if belonging mattered to you as a child, I can't imagine you wanting to be anything other than a youkai, like your father."

"A clever and balanced deduction," she noted as she nudged at the beautifully manicured bonsai tree set upon the coffee table with her toe. "Your bet paid off, though one of your assumptions is faulty. While Japan has been my home for centuries, it's by exile and not choice. While I may be a full-blooded kirin now, my kind only see the taint of my lineage evident in my appearance. My existence is a reminder of a mistake and worth nothing more."

"Do you believe that your existence is a mistake?"

The pungent scent of wet earth inundated the air as rain began to pour. Heavy drops pelted the trees, and on the ground, the water pooled together, forming muddy puddles choked with dead leaves. In the distance, the gray sky flashed brightly. And thunder rolled.

"Is that your question?" Oya asked, her expression hard. A glimmer of opalescence burned in her irises. "Are you asking if I believe that my existence is a mistake?"

Mama hesitated and the dull ache around her neck and throat returned and she reached up absently to trace the bruising with her fingertips.

"Answer me."

"I'd rather…" she began, her mind racing as she chose her words carefully, "I'd rather spend my question on your parent's story if you're willing to tell it. Where they came from and how they met."

The glimmer faded into blackness. "You'd like to know how I came to be?"

"Yes, but only if you'd like to share."

She tapped her lips, deep in thought.

"I can think of something else…"

"No," Oya interjected, "It's worth telling."

Mama waited, her expression kind and friendly.

"Many centuries ago, my father lived in Africa. He was a giraffe daiyoukai and while his people were nomadic by nature, he loved to travel more than most. It wasn't a matter of survival or custom for him. He had a passion for exploration. He wanted to see everything. Needed to. And so, when an expedition from the Ming Dynasty arrived in modern-day Somalia, he was driven to meet them and experience something new.

"Mesmerized by my father's grace, the travelers had only seen one other creature quite like him: a qilin. So, with a little persuasion, they convinced him to join them on their voyage back to mainland China. He arrived with great fanfare and when he met the emperor, he was proclaimed a sacred treasure akin to a celestial beast. And it was in the aftermath of that fervor, while he was strolling in the imperial garden, that he met the real deal. He met my mother."

"Sounds romantic," Mama noted warmly.

"It was," she assured wistfully. "They both shared a love for the exotic and appreciated the limitless diversity of the world. But while he had resisted efforts to make him conform to his people's wishes, she had been forced to abide by the rules of high society. And even though the emperor had declared my father sacred, he was still a daiyoukai, an enemy. So, they saw each other in secret. That is until one day, when my mother realized that she was pregnant.

"She was permitted to carry me to term and he, in exchange for his life, was to take me with him into exile. With the two halves of my lineage at war within my own body, I was a sickly infant and he dared not make the journey back to Africa. Instead, he crossed the sea to Feudal Japan, a place tolerant of youkai."

Empathy in her eyes, Mama leaned forward towards her. "I'm sorry. It must have been difficult for both of you. Stranded in a foreign land, pariahs far from home. And then more so for you when you were left alone."

The melancholy in her voice evaporated, replaced by a hardness. "What is that? Pity in your heart?"

"Compassion."

Fissuring the darkness with light, lightning streaked against the clouds, seeking the ground. Thunder followed, rupturing the sky and sending fresh torrents of rain pouring down. The water coursed through the trees and down the mountainside, ripping away the undergrowth and drowning everything in its path.

"I'm at the head of a criminal organization that preys upon the poor and weak," Oya remarked coldly. "As you said earlier, my business dealings exploit women and girls. I'm responsible for their abuse and assaults. I violate their rights. The finery that you wear right now was paid for with their blood and tears. This tower was paid for by gambling debts and protection rackets from thousands of families over the decades. And yet you have compassion for me?"

A steadiness filled Mama and she looked her in the eyes. "I have compassion for you because despite what you've done, you're a victim, too. You're deserving of empathy. Just like Sesshoumaru."

The figure of the oyabun lounging in an armchair with her foot on the table disappeared.

A boom followed, loud and ringing.

The armchair was gone. Bright sunlight shone in through a fractured window. Shards of glass clung to the edges of the frame, a few falling soundlessly as they tumbled down the many stories to the ground below. Wind gusted in through the hole, tugging at Oya's white suit and mane of long braids.

"Oya-sama!" Ishida shouted.

She held up her finger towards him, silencing him before her attention returned to Mama and she bit out, "I'm not a victim."

"But you are," she contested firmly as she rose to her feet. "The pain of your abandonment and rejection is everywhere and in everything that you do. You spread it around so that it's an easier burden to carry, but by doing so, you place it on others. Drown them in it until your pain is theirs. You must stop and face it or else you'll never be free of it. It's the only way. For your sake and for the sakes of everyone you touch."

"Shut up," she growled, her eyes glowing brilliantly.

"Or you'll choke me again? Kill me?" She shook her head. "Hurting me won't alleviate your pain or even make you feel better the instant my neck is snapped. It remains no matter what you do. I told you before that I see you. And I suspect that's why I'm still alive. It's been a long time since you've been seen. Since someone peered through the veil and found you. The real you."

A vice in the shape of fingers found Mama's throat, and her neck burned. Tears slipped unbidden from her eyes despite her resolve.

"I'll show you what pain is," Oya whispered into her ear, her words terse and clipped, "And you'll never think of me as a victim again."

The sliding door clapped loudly.

And she was gone.

Mama stood still for a long moment. Then, as she rubbed away her tears with the heel of her hand, she collapsed back into her chair and stifled the sob that crept up her throat.

Sitting in his hospital bed, Ishida rubbed his face wearily. "Lady Oya was right."

She looked at him, her eyes puffy and red.

"You are formidable."


	49. The Journal

Chapter Forty-Nine: The Journal

With her arms crossed and her mouth fixed into a scowl, Bikini Girl stood, her back against the slate wall of the smithy workshop. Amber light flickered against her tanned skin, its source the embers of the dying forge. Fluttering the edges of her sarong, a soft breeze blew, but she paid it no mind. Dark and unwavering, her eyes stared ahead past a stone workbench cluttered with clay casts and beads of cooling metal and past iron tools strewn about the ground.

Beyond her, a sharp exhalation ending in a grunt punctuated the air and the breeze faded. A scent akin to ozone rose above the molten odors native to the smithy. And, so did the smell of seared of flesh.

“Stop,” she directed staidly, her tone lacking its usual mischievous quality, “You’re done for tonight.”

Panting lightly as he caught his breath, Sesshoumaru shook his head, “Do not concern yourself. I’m fine. I will still—”

“No, you won’t,” she interrupted, pointing a finger in his direction. “Have you taken a look at yourself this evening?”

Clothed in an old, soot-stained haori coat with its sleeves tied back, he stood before her, sweat and black ash streaking his once porcelain skin. Even the bright, silver hair that capped his head appeared dull and dirty. Cleanliness was the due paid in a smithy and he had satisfied it in full. Only his gold eyes remained clear and brilliant as he met her glare.

“I can bathe later,” he assured, and he tugged at his coat’s lapel disdainfully. “It’s nothing more than dirt.”

She scoffed. “You know that I’m not talking about dirt. Or sweat for that matter.” She thrust out her chin. “Look at your hands.”

His eyes fell downward. Ornate swirls of shining metal laced his forearms, forming gauntlets that flowed onward over his hands. They were skeletal in design with tendrils of metal following every bone and hinged at the joints to give him full mobility. And at his fingertips, the pieces converged into claws, sharp and vicious. They were his hands, reborn as they once were, graceful yet deadly. But under the beauty, his skin blistered at contact points along his wrists and knuckles and his swelling flesh pressed against the metal, making it worst.

His impassive gaze rose to meet hers. “I’m fine. We will continue.”

A sigh burst from her and she ran her hand through her curly hair. “No, you’re not fine. You’re just willful, which isn’t the finest quality to have in a disciple, let me tell you. But your body is going to give out before that thick head of yours and I’m just trying to get out of having to deal with a dead youkai on my smithy floor.”

“I’m not going to die.”

“You will,” she assured. “You don’t feel it yet, but if you keep training at this rate, you’ll deplete what little youki you possess and that will be that.”

“I’m a daiyoukai and—”

“Were a daiyoukai. Right now, you’re barely a youkai at all.”

“I still possess my power. In the parking garage—”

“You realized that your life was still worth living. That you were more than your mistakes and your loss. That you had found happiness and you deserved it. Yes, your power is growing, but that was a moment. A bit of fortune when you needed it most and not something you can rely upon.” She gestured to the gauntlets. “To wield those, you need more than believing in yourself. You need time to train.”

“I don’t have the luxury of time, he sighed. “The city is in peril and I’m in hiding. In the past, I have forced weapons to heed my desires and I will do the same now.”

“I know, but this isn’t like any other enchanted weapon. It feeds on you to generate power.”

“And amplifies that power before returning it to me.”

“But it hasn’t returned anything yet. It’s only draining you and while you haven’t noticed it, your youki is flagging. Look at your hands. Before the flesh was regenerating as fast as it was burning, but now your wounds are worsening without even beginning to heal.”

He frowned.

She blew out a breath. “Your body is like a tree right now and these gauntlets are pruning shears. We’re trimming back some branches and hopefully you’ll grow back ten times as strong, but if we go too far, you might not grow back at all. Understand?”

“Perhaps,” he acquiesced and flexed his fingers, feeling the tightness from the swelling.

“You’re gifted and you’ll figure it out soon,” she added, her hard expression softening. “And I still can’t believe you made those in an afternoon. It would have taken a master blacksmith months to pull that off.”

He snorted. “I once manifested a sword from my own body. This was crude by comparison.”

A chuckle bubbled from her. “Of course, you did. I’m not the least bit surprised.” Then she nodded towards the door. “Let’s go. Maybe there’s some leftover boar meat that we can have for supper.”

OOOOOOOOOO

Under the glow of lanternlight, Kagome sat forward, her elbow resting on the desk and her cheek in her hand. Stacked high on the desk, leather-bound books and ancient scrolls surrounded her, sorted by subject and time. The pungent scents of cleaning agents and wood polish hung in the air, still strong despite the cool, evening draft blowing in through the open windows. With shining floors and neatly organized bookcases, the library barely resembled the dusty mess she had been abandoned in earlier that day and the endless yawns that erupted from her were proof of her efforts.

An icy breeze gusted through the windows, sending her shivering. 

Though it was summertime, it was still the mountains and as much as she wanted to air the room out longer, the cold evening persuaded her otherwise. Stretching her back and neck to work out her soreness, she stood up. Then she shuffled to each window, closing them up tight. Somewhere downstairs, she could hear Tora chatting, worry in his voice. He’d gone down to the train station that afternoon seeking cellphone reception in the hopes of contacting her mother, but every attempt to call her went to voicemail. He hadn’t even gotten a ring.

She sighed heavily and finished securing the last window latch.

It had been barely more than a day since they had departed Tokyo. Before they had left, Mama had assured her that she would be safe. She had promised Souta that everything would be okay. But now they couldn’t contact her. They couldn’t confirm that the dread they felt was no more real than a bad dream. And what made it worse, is that if the yakuza had come for her, then returning to save her put them in even more danger. Because their enemy would be waiting.

The image of opalescent eyes burned in her memory and she swallowed down, pushing it away.

“All right,” she whispered to herself as she turned on her heel to face the desk and the books piled upon it like a mountain range. “There’s one thing that I can do right now and that’s find some answers.”

She approached the desk and turned the dial on the lantern up until it lent more light to the space. Swishes of black calligraphy appeared on the light-colored covers and she methodically began to pore through the literature. One-by-one, she picked up each book and carefully flipped through it as she skimmed its contents. With their subjects revolving around youkai, many read like nature documentaries, observational descriptions and thoughtful deductions. Passionate explorations of their biology, behaviors, and cultures. The sum of their existence nothing more than faded print on old paper. 

A pang of sorrow glossed her eyes as she read. The world had truly lost so much richness with their extinction and as she sorted the promising books from the disappointments, she hoped that a clue to save them could still be found. Something that had been overlooked. Something she could take back with her when the time came, and perhaps she could save a world for the second time in her life.

Slowly, the mountain range upon the desk shrank, eroding away with every book and scroll she removed. The honey-gold grain of the oak desk appeared as she cleared out pile after pile. Then as she reached for a final, hand-bound book, her hand paused above it. Under the brighter lanternlight, the character of its title appeared starkly against its soft-green, leather cover and what drowsiness she felt evaporated. She recognized the handwriting. It was hers.

_A Miko’s Journal During the Bleakest Hour_

Reverently, she scooped the book up and blindly made her way to the chair, her eyes never leaving its cover. After finding her seat, she set it down gently and continued to stare at the familiar scrawl, transfixed. Nervously, she licked her lips. Then her hands fell upon the book and she opened it to the first page.

_This journal is dedicated to the many who fought valiantly against the inevitable. Their bodies may be gone, but the spirit of their resilience and courage live on, immortal in our memories even as all else becomes dust._

She had found what she was looking for and penned by her own hand no less. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach and she turned the page.

_What I’ve feared for the past few years has begun. Inuyasha found it in the forest. A type of spider youkai, tiny in size. He thought it was a jewel glimmering in the grass, like a lost Shikon-no-Tama shard. Maybe that’s why it caught his eye. We’d spent so long traveling the country looking for them that he couldn’t miss it. But I knew what it really was. Sometimes I think I should have told him about the plague sooner, but it didn’t seem fair to put that burden on him or anyone else. They’d bear it soon enough._

_He took the news better than I thought he would. As someone who had visited the modern day, it made sense to him. To live in a place overflowing with youkai and then discover a future where they were nothing more than a myth. He looked to me and asked what the plan was. He knew I was ready. He trusted that I’d figure out a way to fight this. In the past, the future is still unmade and full of possibilities. And he was right, I had spent my last two years in the present day studying every text I could find on epidemiology and environment science. I went through each book in Bikini Girl’s library dozens of times. I was the leading expert that youkaikind needed and it was time for war._

Looking up from the book, she scanned the library and its hundreds of tomes. The future was speaking to her from the past about a moment that had yet to come. And a tingling chill raced up her spine, spreading a field of goose flesh across her back and arms.

_Except for those who knew I was from the future, most people didn’t believe me right away, both youkai and humans alike. But together with Inuyasha, Miroku, Sango, Shippou, and Kouga, our combined reputations carried weight. We started a triage center at Midoriko’s Cave. I didn’t tell them why it had to be there. I only knew that it slowed the disease from what was written in the texts. It was time that we needed, and they trusted that I knew what was best. But it also exemplified how strange it all was. I had spent so much time studying types of transmission and nothing fit. It had all the earmarks of an infectious disease, but every test has proven insignificant._

_And the spider scar on their chests. I can’t stop thinking about the spiders on their chests._

Her thumbnail found her lips and she began to gently nibble on it, the knot inside her swelling.

_Inuyasha showed me his scar today. His eyes were glowing, and he was shaking so badly that I had to pull him in for a hug and hold him. As we laid on the futon, hours must have passed and when I thought he had fallen asleep, he asked me what was going to happen. It was the first time that he had asked. Before then, I don’t think he wanted to know. He wanted to live in a world without fate. I told him that he would live in a world with it, too._

Her hand started to tremble as she reached for the next page.

_Inuyasha got into an argument with Sesshoumaru today. Ever since the beginning, I’ve been pestering him to reach out and recruit his brother, vowing that under that aristocratic asshole exterior was a good person. A lord that had the potential of becoming a worthy guardian to his people. Inuyasha was still pissed off when he made it back to the cave and then astounded that I still believed in Sesshoumaru. I’ll always believe in him, even when he fails, because he needs every lesson that’s coming to him. Whether no one else knows it, the world has more in store for him even when it’s done with the rest of us._

_That night the new moon arrived, and the convulsion episodes that crippled Inuyasha subsided when he assumed his human form. It was the last time he suffered the effects of the disease, because in the morning, his youkai half never returned._

_I cried as much as he did._

The tightness in her stomach climbed into her ribcage and she rubbed absently at her chest, the feeling almost unbearable.

_The rate at which the disease spreads is growing exponentially. At first, it was just the ones who lived near the village, but we’re seeing the afflicted arrive from as far as Shikoku and Kyushu. I wouldn’t be surprised if some from the mainland show up soon. I’ve stopped looking at it as some sort of infectious contagion. Maybe it’s something environmental. Most mass extinctions were believed to be just that. I’ve taken air, water, and soil samples, but nothing looks promising. We’re running out of time._

As she turned the next page and discovered it speckled with droplet stains, muddling the handwriting.

_Shippou and Kirara died today._

Saltiness built in her mouth and throat. Her eyes turned red and glossy with impending tears and she turned the page again to avoid adding more to what she had already shed. But every page was filled with more droplets and more loss. Names and memories turned to crystal. Each a battle lost.

Rubbing her face dry with the heel of her hand, she flipped through the journal, desperate to avoid another obituary, when a clean page arrived and her hand stopped.

_Tonight, I finally figured it out. It struck me like a shooting star as I journeyed back from meeting with the old, magnolia youkai, seeking its wisdom one final time in a bid to save Sesshoumaru, the last of their kind. It was a clear night and the full moon hung so bright that I could easily find my way. In that moment, deep in the inky beauty of the galactic sky, I realized that I had never considered the cosmic. The balance between powers and the consequences of disrupting them._

_We had made so many assumptions in our final battle against Naraku, especially about the nature of the Shikon-no-Tama. What kind of hubris must we have had to think that by simply wishing the jewel away, we would be free of its consequences? How many times had it been corrupted and purified throughout the years and why did we believe that the souls trapped within it would be unaffected by that state of constant flux? It was even incinerated once in a funeral pyre only to be reborn centuries later in my body. And to have its final bearer be Naraku, a hanyou born of regret and evil sentiment, what else could we have expected? We assumed his wish was Kikyou, but perhaps it was something else. A different kind of ending. A finish to the battle that raged within him and the jewel. A victor where the prize won was survival and the loser ceased to be. Had it been chance? A cosmic coin flip between youkaikind and humanity? Could I have been the one who turned to crystal instead of all my youkai friends?_

_And if this is true, then do I even matter? If the ending was decided years before I returned to the past, why am I here? To bear witness to the suffering of an entire people? To be powerless as I watch them fade from existence?_

_I wanted to save the world. It’s what I was supposed to do. And I was doomed to fail before I even started._


	50. The Thread That Binds

Chapter Fifty: The Thread That Binds

Kagome’s pulse raced.

Sitting under the glow of lanternlight, she stared at the handwritten journal, her eyes unseeing. Tears streaked her ruddy cheeks and her face felt like fire. The air. Her skin. Everything was burning. With a ratcheting tension, she began to pant, the nauseating stink of linseed oil and old paper filling her nose. Soon, she was gasping, her chest tight and painful. And her stomach churned.

She couldn’t breathe. 

She couldn’t breathe. 

She couldn’t breathe.

Her chair flew back as she bolted up from her seat and it banged into the bookcase behind her. Books and scrolls tumbled from the desk as she brushed past them to clamber for the door. By the time they slapped against the floor, she was gone.

The stairs were a blur as she rushed down them, her feet stumbling. Desperately, she grabbed for the handrail, catching herself before she fell. Then a surge of nausea climbed up her throat, and she barreled onward, heading for the first floor. 

Somewhere nearby she could hear Tora arguing. His voice sounded distorted, as if he were underwater, but without knowing what he was saying, she could hear his anguish. Hear his despair. It melded with her own, enveloping her. It swallowed her up. The shrine was a tomb. She had to get out. 

She couldn’t breathe.

With an ungainly thump, she hit the first floor and exploded out the front door. The chilly mountain breeze buffeted against her body, turning her smooth skin to goose flesh. Her chest heaving, she gulped for the crisp air, but her lungs wouldn’t fill. She was already drowning. Another wet wave came, painting her flushed skin with perspiration and she couldn’t keep it down any longer.

Her bare feet faltering across the gravel yard, she scrambled for a hedge and leaned into it, her mouth open. Accompanied by retching grunts, dry heaves shook her body and long tendrils of saliva poured from her. But that was all that came out.

She hadn’t eaten anything since that morning. There was nothing to purge. No relief for the upset that twisted inside her.

They would die. Youkaikind would die and there was nothing she could do about it but watch it happen. Nothing she could do about it but be there when her friends and family die.

A renewed need to escape wrenched her forward, propelling her along the hedge and driving her away from the shrine and the fate it foretold. She felt the fluttering of the hedge’s leaves against the palm of her hand and she followed it up the rise, letting it guide her deeper into the mountain.

Silver moonlight dappled the forest floor, revealing thick piles of pine needles and spindly saplings. She waded through it, staying close to the hedge-line until it thinned, thwarted by half-buried, granite boulders along an eroded ridge. She spied up at the crest, its hard silhouette cutting against the night sky. Her jaw set, she approached the closest boulder and grabbed onto a handhold, and slowly, she began to climb. Clothed in shorts and a thin top, she slid over the rough rock, abrading her skin and shredding her elbows and knees. Her feet turned slippery with blood, cut up as she wedged them into jagged crevices, securing her footing as she wove her way upward. The stinging pain hovered like a haze in the back of her mind, numbed by panic. 

Scrabbling over the final outcrop, she reached a hidden copse of stout conifers surrounded patches of meadowland. Sage-green grass rippled in rhythm with the breeze and amid it, dark clumps of lavender bloomed.

Its summery scent floated in the air and as she breathed it in, her heart slowed a beat. Steam curled and billowed somewhere beyond the trees and when she peered through their black trunks, she spied the flickering glow of a lantern set upon a rock beside a hot spring.

Silently, a shadow moved through the trees towards her.

She froze.

The figure emerged, his fair skin and short, argent hair bright under the cool moonlight. Water trickled down the lines of his nude, statuesque body, and like her, he didn’t seem to feel the cold.

“Kagome?” Sesshoumaru called to her, frowning as he approached.

She blinked, staring at him.

Tilting his chin up slightly, he scented the air and the concern that furrowed his brow deepened. “It’s as I thought. You’re injured. What happened? Has there been an attack?”

“I was… I was…” she stuttered, her voice small and distant as she tried to think, “I was running away.” Then her mind snapped back into focus. She spotted his hands, blistered and red with weeping, open sores from his knuckles to his elbows. “What happened to your hands?!”

Unfazed by her shock, he continued to watch her, his expression unchanging. “I have not yet mastered my enchanted gauntlets and they have drained my youki to the point where I cannot heal.”

She limped forward. “You crafted weapons that drain your youki and then trained with them until your power was so emaciated that you can’t heal? Do you know how dangerous that is? If you run out of youki, you’ll die.”

“Kagome.”

Gently, she took his hands into her own, turning them over so that she could examine the sores and blisters. “No, you have to understand. You’re going to get yourself killed.” 

“Kagome.”

“And I can’t let you die. I-I can’t take one more death. I can’t fail one more person. I just can’t—"

Turning his palms up, he closed his hands around hers, clasping her gently. 

Her babbling subsided and her tired, wide-eyed gaze drifted up to meet his face and its understated kindness.

“What happened?” he asked.

And the despair that she had momentarily forgotten, again brimmed inside her.

“I found a journal,” she admitted, her face turning away to hide the tears that welled in her eyes, “I recognized the handwriting. It was mine and in it, I describe the curse. The plague. The disease that wipes out youkaikind. The entries start out bleak yet hopeful and end with horror and loss.” She laughed ruefully. “I’m such an idiot. What else did I think it would be? It’s the story of my failure.”

Shame pained his features. “We both failed. If I had acted when I should have, perhaps—”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I failed long before that. The Shikon-no-Tama was my responsibility and I treated its recovery frivolously, like some teenage adventure. Like it didn’t have consequences. If I had never shattered it, then maybe everyone would still be alive. Maybe if I had right away returned through the well when I first fell in, youkai would still be thriving in this world. Maybe if had never entered the wellhouse doors…”

“To what are you referring? What does the Shikon-no-Tama and your connection to it have to do with anything?”

She looked up at him, her cheeks shimmering wet and her voice rough and broken. “The curse that killed youkaikind was exactly that. A curse. Naraku’s real wish, warped by the sentiment of the embattled souls inside the gem, weary from fighting and eager for an end. They were so evenly matched that it was chance on a cosmic level who would deliver the decisive blow. And humans lucked out.” She shrugged at the senselessness. “When Naraku was defeated, we thought we were victorious, but it was already too late for half of us.”

“Are you certain?”

“It’s in my own hand. How could it be anything else but true?” A glimmer of hope sparked inside her and she leaned forward imploringly. “Unless I was mistaken and you believe it could be something else? Anything else? A pathogen or an environmental hazard? Some kind ecological collapse? Anything that I can still stop?”

His attention fell from her to the spider-shaped scar that branded his chest.

Her gaze followed and she swallowed, closing her eyes.

“No,” he replied quietly, his words measured and heavy to speak. “The past is what it is. You cannot change its outcome. After hearing the details from you now, I know there is no other truth. Our extinction was inevitable.”

“Then what’s the point?” she pleaded, sorrow ravaging her throat. “I go back through the well one more time for what? To watch thousands of youkai die, slowly petrified into crystal? To share their trauma with them and to mourn them when they’ve passed? To be without hope as my friends and family die? That’s my fate?” Hiccupping sobs shuddered her body and she rubbed at her stinging eyes, unable to dam the anguish flooding within her. “This is the punishment I deserve, isn’t it?”

“Kagome.”

“I-I shattered the Shikon-no-Tama making it easy for Naraku to gather the pieces. Then I kept the shards we recovered in a little bottle or wore them fused on a chain around my neck like some kind of trophy…”

“Kagome.”

“…When I should have left them in the future under a protective seal. I made it so easy for him, because one way or the other, every shard I gathered was also one I gave to him…”

“Kagome.”

“…I let his happen. It’s my fault. I didn’t think and I killed everyone. I’m a monster. I—”

Arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. His skin was warm and wet against her cheek, the soothing sulfurous scent of the hot spring filling her every shivering breath. She could feel the strength of his muscles enveloping her, shielding her from the cold she hadn’t felt, but he was softer than she thought he’d be. Gentler. 

He held her in silence until the sobs that rocked her body eased, rolling through her in slowly diminishing waves.

High above, silver-rimmed clouds passed over the moon, eclipsing it.

“We are all to blame,” he consoled, stroking her hair. “Had we known the stakes, perhaps we would have acted differently, but in the end, we all bear the burden. Not just you.”

“But…” she murmured, burying her face into his chest. “But I—”

“We are all to blame,” he repeated firmly. Then he shifted her to one side and scooped her up from under her legs.

“What are you doing?” she asked as she grabbed his shoulder.

Cradling her in his arms, her body snug against him, he spied at her from the corner of his eye. “You’re injured. I will tend to your wounds.”

“No-No, it’s all right,” she sputtered.

“It’s only fair,” he added, ignoring her objections, “After all the times you’ve tended to me that I return the favor.” Noiselessly, he waded into the tree line, weaving his way back towards the lantern-lit spring. 

She laid her head against the crook between his neck and shoulder, too tired to resist. 

Flat hunks of granite surrounded the spring and he climbed them like steps until he reached the edge of the steaming pool. Then he carefully stepped down into the knee-high water.

“As I stated earlier,” he explained, his skin aglow in gold and shadow. “My youki is depleted and I cannot heal. My master mentioned that this spring has recuperative properties. Whether that proves true or not, we shall see. But compared to my wounds, your scrapes and cuts, while many, are relatively superficial. A soak will definitely benefit you.”

Steadily, he knelt, and she felt the steaming water rush up, engulfing her lower half with shocking warmth. Her injuries stinging, she winced, but after a moment, the pain lessened, flowing out of her and into the pool. He sat down, the water rippling just below his collarbone, and rested his back against a rock.

Together, they closed their eyes and let their muscles relax as their bodies absorbed the soothing heat. Slow and regular, they breathed in the vapor through their noses, letting it fill their lungs before exhaling it out.

In the surrounding undergrowth, crickets sang their melodies.

“I wish I was as strong as you,” she murmured after a time, her eyes cracking open. “You’ve overcome so much and here I am a wreck.”

He scoffed under his breath.

“No, really. You’ve become the guardian you aspired to be. You’re saving lives and uniting people. I can’t even remember the old you, the one from centuries ago. You’ve changed so much. And I’m just the same as I’ve always been. A naïve girl lost in time.”

His eyes opened, revealing his slit pupils. “You’ve never realized it, have you?”

She tilted her head up to look at him, her expression quizzical.

“When I consider the lord I wish I had been,” he explained, his gaze unfocused, lost in memory, “The one, as you said, I aspire to be, I think of Inuyasha. I think of his commitment to save people who I had deemed unworthy of my time. His ability to unite disparate groups to a dire cause. And his compassion for a brother who ignored his pleas and paid the price. He embodied these things because that’s what it meant to be a guardian. To selflessly give yourself in service to your people, even in the face of certain doom.”

“He wasn’t always that way,” she admitted.

“And that is my point,” he said, and his eyes met hers, irises glimmering gold. “It was you.”

“Me?”

“It was your commitment, leadership, and compassion that I saw in him. You are the one who shaped and inspired him to become the guardian our people needed in our dying days. You are the rock. Not Inuyasha and I. Because you’re the thread that binds us. We only became our best selves through… you.”

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks and her chest swelled with emotion.

“And when I was sealed, it may have been Inuyasha who plunged the sword. But it was you who made the seal that saved my life. I wouldn’t be alive and here without you.”

“I saved you?” she asked.

He leaned forward and pressed an earnest kiss, soft and warm, against her forehead, his hand cupping her jaw as he stroked her cheek. 

A shuddering sigh escaped her. She had found the relief she had been seeking all evening in the glow of his affection.

Then he pulled away to look at her, a smile hinting at his features. “You saved us both.”


	51. A Ruthless Trap

Chapter Fifty-One: A Ruthless Trap

The muraled door slid open and Mama stepped through, entering Ishida’s room. 

The space felt different at night. Recessed lighting lit the walls and furniture in pristine white, highlighting artwork and décor and emphasizing its modern aesthetic. The green theme wove its way through it all, but there was something sanitized about it. Superficial. The majesty of the forests and the mountains without the dirt.

Then her attention gravitated to the array of windows and the glittering endlessness of the city at night. At so many stories above the ground, the view of the financial district was breathtaking. Yet again, she was struck by the surrealness. Tiny points of light flowed down thoroughfares and snaked along unseen train tracks. Each representing a person and a life yet devoid of detail and humanity. It would be easy to forget that the world below was real from such a lofty perch.

The sound of rippling plastic drew her back.

Secured along the frame, a large tarp covered the shattered window and she watched as the wind teased at it through the gap. The world truly did exist beyond the glass. She just needed to keep pressing at the cracks.

“Higurashi-san?” Yukina spoke up, touching her gently on the arm.

Mama spied back at her and smiled softly. “Don’t worry. I was just taking a moment to enjoy the view.”

She nodded, pride warming her cheeks. “It’s the best in the city.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she agreed, and her smile broadened, “To have the privilege to work in a place filled with such opulence must be quite the honor.”

Yukina sighed. “Even if this were a hole dug in the mud, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. I owe everything to Lady Oya.”

Mama blinked. “I had assumed you were indebted to the clan and forced to—”

“It’s not like that,” she interjected firmly. Then, surprised by her own vehemence, her voice faltered, “At least, it’s not for me.”

Unfazed, she waited. “Go on. Tell me.”

“When I was a teenager, my homelife was… My father… He…” Biting the inside of her lip, she shook her head. “Well, it wasn’t good and I ran away. I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I thought it would be easier being on my own except I didn’t have a plan or friends. I ended up homeless, taking shelter at one of the city’s temples. The gardens were what drew me and kept me there. They were so splendid, lush and green. I’d walk them for hours and forget my trauma and despair. A piece of solace in an uncaring city. And then one day down a secluded trail, I met her.” 

Though her eyes were on Mama, her gaze was somewhere else. Somewhere in bloom.

“Have you ever been at your lowest point,” she asked, almost in whisper, “Where you were exhausted, dirty and raw from the world, and looked at something so beautiful that it hurt? So breathtaking that you physically felt pain because of it?” 

Mama remembered the trees at her shrine, cycling through the seasons as Oya approached, her braids flowing behind her. 

And she swallowed dryly.

“I fell to my knees and cried when I met her,” Yukina continued. “And in her grace, she lifted me up and demanded Ishida take me home. But when I said I had no home, she decided right there to give me one. Since then she’s cared for me and protected me. Given me purpose. Looking back, I know I’d be dead without her.”

“That was generous of her, Mama noted warmly. “To take you in and offer refuge.”

She nodded.

“But what about those she didn’t protect?” she asked, her face remaining kind as she wielded her words like a scalpel. “What about the homeless girls she exploited through her clan’s business? They had lives, too, worthy of grace.”

“I don’t know…”

“Benevolence granted to a few doesn’t excuse atrocities committed against many.”

“I don’t—"

“That’s enough,” a man growled.

Propped up by pillows and with the head of his bed fully inclined, Ishida sat, scowling at Mama. Medical equipment mounted on casters flanked his bed, unplugged and disregarded. His attention turned from her to the young woman.

“Yukina,” he barked, “Go put together some dinner for me, please. Soba if you can find it.”

Relief escaped her in a sigh, and she gave him a quick yet polite bow. “Yes, of course.” Then she scurried out of the room, the door shutting behind her with a soft tap.

He watched her go and when she disappeared, his eyes snapped to Mama.

Keeping her expression a neutral mask, she met his glare in return.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he said coolly, “But leave her alone. She’s not going to betray Lady Oya, so you’re only distressing her. Her life’s been hard enough without losing the only people who have ever cared about her like family.”

“Like family?” she asked dubiously, her eyebrow arched.

“What do you think a yakuza clan is? A found family of siblings and patriarchs. People who form bonds and serve roles. Live like brothers under the care and discipline of a father.”

“Under the care of a father?” she noted pointedly. “But not under a mother?”

He snorted and shook his head with incredulity. “You’re as sharp as a knife.”

“Sometimes.”

“Well, I don’t have a need for a knife right now,” he asserted and then nodded towards the overbed table stowed beside a nearby wall outlet. Plugged in and ready, an electric kettle sat upon it along with a cannister of loose leaf and a cast iron tea set. “A cup would be nice before dinner. Make it for me, please.”

After granting him a cordial bow, she approached the table and clicked the kettle on and as it started with a soft hiss, she picked up the tea cannister and popped off its bamboo lid. The delicate, floral scent of jasmine wafted through the air and she suppressed a chuckle.

“What?” he asked.

“It’s the same tea that I served Lady Oya when she visited my shrine. It seemed like a good fit then.”

“It’s a favorite,” he commented coolly, “And even more proof of why she shouldn’t have brought you here. You’re disruptive and distracting.”

She hummed thoughtfully as she filled the tea basket. “I’m an observant and curious type. And if my expressing that proves disruptive or distracting, you must ask yourself what is it that I’m seeing that makes you so anxious and prone to deflecting?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

The water in the kettle began to boil and she turned it off. 

“I’m not intimidated by you,” he assured.

She smirked. Steam curled from the kettle’s spout as she poured it into the teapot. From within, the tea’s aroma blossomed brightly, filling the room. “I wouldn’t insinuate that you’re intimidated by me, yet by commenting on my sharpness in lieu of answering a question, you appear to suggest otherwise.”

He scowled.

“So,” she asked, unplugging the kettle and wheeling the table towards his bedside, “Why is it under the care of the father and not the mother?”

His jaw working, he glared at her.

She waited, her manner unaffected as she positioned the table over his bed and filled his cup with tea.

Then he blew out a breath and mumbled a string of obscenities. “It’s assumed that the clan is governed by a father and she takes advantage of that. She’s fond of adoption and absorbs weaker clans under her rule, but the newest children always need time to adjust. And so, she lets them believe that this family operates in the same way as their old family.”

“When she came to visit me,” she remarked as she tucked her hands into her sleeves, “I had deduced that her reclusiveness was out of fear of rejection. It’s good to know what convenient excuse she uses for hiding.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you pining for death, woman?”

She glanced up at a katana mounted over the head of his bed, artfully uplit in green. “No, I’m not. And in truth, what you find infuriating about me is exactly why I’m still alive. It’s why my family is still alive.” She smiled wryly. “And it brings me to my next question for you. Why don’t you want her to kill me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Now don’t get me wrong. You’d be pleased if I was no longer a distraction. But earlier, when she and I were engaged in our conversation, you were serious about having me killed or tortured, yet you balked at her being the one to do it. Why? She’s more than capable of it and as the matriarch of her clan, it’s her right to defend it against disruptions and threats. So, why did you challenge her on it?”

He gritted his teeth.

She raised an eyebrow and watched him.

The tea slowly cooled in his cup.

“I’m not challenging her,” he finally growled under his breath, “I’m protecting her.”

“From what?”

“From pain,” he admitted and then picked up his tea and downed it. The empty cup clattered onto the table, and with his thumb, he swiped at a dribble leaking from the corner of his mouth. “You know what she is.”

“A kirin.”

“Then you should also understand why she shouldn’t be in that position.” His attention drifted away, drawn towards the forested murals, and his scowl softened. “You know that when she walks across the grass, she doesn’t bend a single blade. I’ve been her lieutenant for years, escorting her to the temple gardens every month on holy days, and not once has she left a trail. I still have a hard time conceiving of that level of gentleness. But the animals know it. They gravitate towards it, attracted to her grace and soothed by her aura.” 

“The insects,” Mama marveled, thinking back. “When she visited, they crawled up through the bricks, beckoned by her. But none were crushed when she passed.”

“A kirin isn’t meant to kill, and I will do anything to protect her. Bear her burdens even if she feels otherwise.”

“You sound like you love her.”

His expression turned cold and hard, and their eyes locked. “She’s my family. All that I have. And I would raze this city to the ground to save her. None of it would be left. I’d burn it all.”

Mama swallowed as her resolve wavered and she took a step back.

“You understand what that means, don’t you?” he added. “You’ve felt it for your own. That’s what I’m willing to do. Remember it.”

And again, she looked up at the katana that loomed over his bed like an executioner’s axe.

“I will,” she vowed.

OOOOOOOOOO

Leather-soled shoes clapped against the floor, echoing down the hallway. Dressed in his favorite white suit, Kurosawa strode with purpose, a smug smile curling his lips. A step behind him, Hyousuke hustled, out of breath. Dark bags underscored his eyes and his skin appeared waxy and pale. But he wore his brown suit crisply and his head was clean shaven. Quickly though, as they made their way through the endless labyrinth of the tower’s top floor, his pace began to flag.

“Keep up, Hyousuke,” Kurosawa barked, his impatience clipping his words. “You know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

“Yes, oya-jii,” he replied, perspiration dappling his bald pate. “My apologies, sir.”

Kurosawa’s smile returned and his stride quickened. For nearly a year, ever since his initiation into the Shikai Clan, he had bowed and scraped for their mysterious oyabun. A glowing-eyed monster that hardly no one knew about, or at least, no one was willing to confess what they knew. When the demon had come for him a few days ago, he had hoped what intel he had fed him would have spelled death for one of them, especially after seeing the parking structure rubble. To his chagrin, they both lived. But as one door shuts, another opens. He would take back what was his and with interest.

“Is it set up and ready?” he asked over his shoulder.

Hyousuke nodded, panting. “Yes, sir.”

His smile broadened into a menacing grin. “Good.”

A young woman in a fine kimono waited ahead of them and both men slowed as they approached.

“Kurosawa-san,” she welcomed with a bow, her hair ornaments jangling. “I hope this evening finds you well and thank you for coming on such short notice. Our oyabun appreciates your dedication.”

Without acknowledging her greeting, he stopped at the muraled panel beside her and began to adjust his cuffs and straighten his suit. He glanced at Hyousuke and a flash of disgust wrinkled his nose. “You’re sweating. Dry your face.” Then he eyed the lump in his breast pocket. “And fix that, too.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied and pulled out a handkerchief from inside his coat and started to dab.

He watched him as he cleaned up, and once he was satisfied, he gave him a nod of approval and his attention flew to the woman. “You.”

“Yukina,” she corrected.

“I don’t give a %$&#,” he said flippantly. “Are we doing this or not? Open the door.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Are you deaf?” he asked, snapping his fingers in her face. “Let’s go.”

She took a deep breath. “This way if you would, sir.” Then she reached for a hidden handle and slid the panel open, revealing a room.

With his head held high like a preening rooster, he sauntered inside with Hyousuke trailing behind him. The room boasted a familiar set up for the tower, filled with expensive furnishings, exquisite artwork, and an almost panoramic view of the city’s skyline. He wore a mask of indifference as he pored over the space, reimagining it in his own style.

A wry smile spread across his face.

“Ishida-san,” he greeted with exaggerated warmth, his eyes bright and his teeth sharp. “Glad to see you lived.”

Clothed in a designer dress shirt and slacks, Ishida glared at him from the comfort of a hospital bed, his attendant nurse standing close beside him. Tight under his pantleg, the bandage around his thigh bulged.

“Raiden,” he greeted in return, enunciating the man’s first name with mocking relish.

Kurosawa’s smile transformed into a scowl. “I see that your brush with death has done nothing for your manners.”

“I’m only granting you the respect you deserve and nothing more.”

He scoffed. “Yet here I am, personally summoned by our oyabun. And from your sour expression, I can tell it wasn’t your idea. Your esteem, good or foul, must mean nothing before our father. How does that taste? Bitter, no doubt.”

“You’ll reveal what you are,” Ishida spat. “Garbage in a nice suit is still garbage. You can’t hide your rotten stink despite all that cologne.”

“Ooh,” he hissed.

“Enough,” a voice commanded.

Kurosawa spun on his heel and his eyes widened.

Seated cross-legged in an antique armchair, a dark-skinned woman stared at him, her chin resting in her elegant hand. Her countenance was cool and dispassionate, but her black eyes bored deep into him. A strange mist fell over his senses. The chill of an autumn morning along a reed-choked creek overwhelmed him and he felt his fight slipping with the water’s gentle babbling.

“Who are you?” he asked, his words slurring as he shook his head, driving the imagery from his mind.

“I’m your oyabun,” she replied, then gestured towards him. “Bow and show me the deference I deserve.”

He froze, staring at her. This wasn’t right. An oyabun was a man. A Japanese man. What kind of ridiculous ruse was this? Was Ishida toying with him? Had he demanded for him be summoned so that he could have another chance to humiliate him again? He’d kill them for this. First, they stole his clan, and now they further insult him with this farce. If they hadn’t forced him to leave his weapons in the lobby, he would slay them all right now.

“Bow,” she commanded.

And the weight of a mountain crushed him.

His knees struck the floor with a heavy thump followed by the palms of his hands. The fresh scent of pine filled his nostrils and he couldn’t tell if it was the wood polish pressed against his nose or the forested dell that filled his vision.

“Thank you,” she said dryly from her chair.

Trembling, he pushed up against the weight, lifting his head. As he struggled against it, sweat beaded his brow and a long tendril of drool seeped from his mouth. His wide-eyed gaze rose from her feet until he spied her burning, opalescent eyes.

She was the one behind the screen during his initiation into the clan. There was no doubt in his mind. He had finally met the oyabun of the Shikai Clan.

A foreigner. A woman. A monster. Could he have hoped for anything better?

“Forgive my earlier impudence,” he sputtered, spraying saliva onto the floor. “It’s my honor to serve you, oya-jii.” 

She regarded him for a moment, watching him as his body shook and his collar soaked up his sweat. Then a smirk kinked her lips and the weight pressing him down evaporated.

Heaving gasps rolled through his body as he gulped down air into his oxygen-starved lungs. Unsteadily, he climbed back to his feet and pulled a handkerchief from inside his coat to dry his neck and face. As he regained his bearings, he glanced back at Hyousuke. He still sat on the floor, terror stealing what color he had left. But the angle was fine, so he let him be.

“I appreciate your dedication to my service,” she said, the glow in her eyes dimming to black. 

He turned back towards her.

“And while your reputation precedes you,” she continued. “I’m in need of someone who isn’t afraid to be ruthless.”

“Ruthless?” Ishida interrupted. “He started a gang war inside his own clan and ripped it apart for the sake of power. He’s not trustworthy and he doesn’t care about family. It would be foolish—"

She raised a finger in his direction. “Quiet.”

He growled under his breath but said no more.

“Ishida is right,” she agreed. “You aren’t trustworthy and you have no care for family. But it’s for those reasons that I’ve summoned you. The demon is in hiding and I need someone of your caliber to flush him out into the open.”

“You want me to find the demon?” Kurosawa asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I want you to create havoc. Stir up the city. He fancies himself a guardian of the people. Their protector. I want you to drive him from his pathetic hole with blood and fire, and when he pokes his head out, we take it off.”

With his confidence bolstered, he slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “A war, huh? That’d lure him out. But it’s messy and attracts a certain kind of unwanted attention, speaking from experience. If I might suggest, unlike me, he’s a little more sensitive about his allies. Gut one of them, and he’ll come running. His little sidekick on the motorcycle. Or better yet the girl. There are a few things I could do to her to get his blood boiling and have a little fun while I was at it.”

“No! You can’t!” the nurse half-shouted before her hand flew to her mouth.

The oyabun eyed her obliquely.

“Hush,” Ishida whispered. 

Without a word, she nodded and turned to the window, losing herself in the city.

Kurosawa’s eyes narrowed as he watched the three of them, sensing a secret.

The oyabun’s attention returned to him. “Attacking his family is a card I’m not willing to play yet. The city will do. Especially around Namidabashi, his new namesake.”

He stared at her, his mind working as he pried at what was there but unspoken. He called them allies, but she regarded them as family. 

“Kurosawa?” she called out when he didn’t respond.

People she’s not willing to attack… yet.

“Kurosawa?”

Then it clicked, and a wicked smile cut his face, exposing teeth and malice.

“My apologies,” he feigned. “It will be an honor, oya-jii, to do what I do best. A war in the city? Consider it done tomorrow morning.”

“If you’re successful and the demon, with his soft heart, is slain, I intend to promote you. You’ll be my shateigashira, second lieutenant, and outranked by only Ishida himself.”

He bowed deeply at the waist, exuding deference. “Then I look forward to my upcoming promotion. Now, if there are no other details that need imparting, I must rally our brothers, because tonight, the burning begins.”

Satisfied, she waved him off. “Have at it. You’re dismissed.”

Leaning over, he grabbed Hyousuke by the collar of his coat and hauled him to his feet. The man flopped as though he were rubber, but he found his footing, and when he felt steady, Kurosawa let him go. 

Together, they granted her another bow and slipped from the room, heading alone down the hallway.

“Did we get it, oya-jii?” Hyousuke mumbled, his body trembling with chills.

With a fang clipping his lip, Kurosawa smirked and reached for his lieutenant’s breast pocket. From it, he plucked a small smartphone, the eye of its camera in line with a small hole in the pocket. He tapped the red button on the screen, ending the recording.

“Yes, we did,” he mused as he scrolled through the video, earmarking clips. “And now it’s time to make a little movie about a monster who imagined herself as an oyabun. And more than that, I’m all but certain that she’s currently harboring the family of her clan’s worst enemy.” He chuckled darkly. “To think I believed that I would be perpetrating the greatest act of betrayal today. This tower will be mine before the day is done tomorrow.”


	52. The Power of Belief

Chapter Fifty-Two: The Power of Belief

Warm, morning sunlight filtered in through the window, illuminating Kagome’s slumbering face. Nestled in her futon on the guest room floor, she tossed and turned as the light stirred her from her sleep, aided by twittering songbirds as they flitted from tree to tree outside. Dark gray in color, her eyes cracked open, blinded by the golden brilliance, but slowly, they adapted, and the world came into focus.

Band-aids covered her hands and forearms and when she moved to sit up, pain prickled her legs and feet. For a moment, she sat confused, her hair a wild and knotted mess. But when she inhaled the sulfur on her skin, the previous night came surging back. Sesshoumaru, warm and strong, carrying her into the hot spring and soothing away her pain, both physically and in her heart.

She poked at one of her band-aids and felt a tingle of discomfort. Then as she bit her lower lip, she peeled it back. Underneath, she found healthy, pink skin and the thin line of a scab, already flaking away. She shook her head in disbelief. Five days’ worth of healing after one soak. He was right. The hot spring does have healing properties. She examined the soles of her feet next, noting that the deeper cuts were mending better than she could have hoped. She’d be able to walk without much pain.

_“…You are the rock. Not Inuyasha and I. Because you’re the thread that binds us. We only became our best selves through… you.”_

She was that important to them? In the face of a species’ inevitable end, her actions and her belief in them mattered that much?

_“You saved us both.”_

Her eyes itched with impending tears and she rubbed at them with the heels of her hands. Then she gently slapped her face, refocusing her thoughts. This wasn’t the time to cry over fate or a dark future that’s already passed. The city needed their guardian and he needed her. He needed all of them. His family.

Terse shouts echoed throughout the shrine, blowing away the last of her melancholy like a gust of wind.

Numb to any pain, she was on her feet and at her dresser, pulling out a change of clothes. She threw them on and ran her brush through her hair, careless as she raked out the knots, snapping strands.

Then she burst out of her room and raced down the stairs, taking two at a time as she headed towards the front door.

Grandpa and Souta hung by the doorway, peering out into the courtyard. Beyond them, Bikini Girl leaned against one of the giant, saber teeth that framed the entrance and past her was Tora. A broomstick in his hand, he held it ready, his body squared with the trail leading up to the shrine.

“Who are you?” he shouted in a hard voice, one she scarcely recognized, his typical affability absent.

“Now look,” a man replied coolly. “I’m not your enemy and there’s not a lot of time.”

Squeezing through the crowded doorway, Kagome slipped out and trotted across the courtyard until she could see the trail. There she discovered a man in a suit, his shoulders slouched with exhaustion. An old trench coat lay folded over his forearm and sweat drenched the armpits and collar of his shirt. Atop his messy mop of hair sat a battered fedora, pushed up and askew.

“I said, ‘Who are you?’” Tora reiterated, and he gave the broomstick an intimidating twirl. 

“Look—"

“I won’t ask you again.”

“All right. Fine,” he conceded, waving his hands in a pacifying manner. “I’m not here to fight. I’m here to ask for help.”

With his jaw set, Tora waited.

“My name is Nakagawa Eiji,” he said, pulling on the lanyard tucked into his suit vest until his identification swung free. “I’m a detective with the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Force, and I’ve come looking for the Demon of Namidabashi. I need his help.”

“You’re who?”

“It’s him,” Souta replied. Emboldened by his sister’s approach, he now stood in her shadow, gesturing towards the detective. “He’s the one that got me and Sesshoumaru through the checkpoint when the cops were after him that one night.”

“Hey kiddo,” Nakagawa greeted him with an uncle’s charm. “Glad you’re all right.”

“The night at the docks? When Sesshoumaru was blinded?” Tora asked.

Souta nodded. “He gave us those business cards. Sesshoumaru didn’t want them, so I gave them to mama.”

“Mama, huh?” Nakagawa noted and scanned each of their faces. “Do you all live at that shrine? The Higurashi Shrine in Tokyo?”

They stared at him, eyes wide, their silence his proof.

“A couple days back, I received a text from a number registered with the shrine’s address. It was from a woman thanking me for my open-mindedness and hoping that I’d be willing to do one more thing for her family and that was to come out here and find you all.”

They glanced at each other, their distress etched on their faces. Except for Tora. His attention remained pinned on Nakagawa.

“You’re a detective and you came all the way out here and climbed up this damn mountain over a text?” he asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Nakagawa hedged, averting his eyes.

“You went there, didn’t you?” he accused, his anxiety and powerlessness boiling out of him, raising his voice. “I’ve spent every day calling her number. No answer. No ring. I even hopped the train to a busier station down the line, hoping that it was just the messed-up cell reception around here, but nothing changed, like it was a dead phone.” He pointed his finger at him. “But you’ve been there. You went to the shrine. What did you find? What happened?”

“Yeah, I did,” he admitted as he took off his hat and ran his fingers through his wet hair. Then he put it back on, wisps clinging to his forehead. “Someone had been there. Probably at the same time I received the text. There was a struggle. The family room was destroyed. They threw the table and turned it into splinters.”

The broomstick clattered onto the ground.

“She got her,” Tora muttered and began to pace, rubbing his face with both hands. “The day we left, the oyabun came for her, looking for us. We shouldn’t have left her behind.”

“Was she…?” Kagome started to ask, her voice drying up in her throat.

Tora paused and the others watched her, their eyes wide and weary.

With a deep, shaky breath, she asked again, forcing the words out, “Was she… there?”

They turned to the detective.

“No,” he replied.

Audible relief rippled through them.

“Whoever came for her,” he added, “It looks like they took her alive. There’s evidence that she welcomed them into the house. Maybe even tried to negotiate with them. It didn’t go her way and I suspect they took her back to their headquarters as bait for all of you.”

“She welcomed her into the house and tried to negotiate with her?” Tora asked, gesturing emphatically. “She knew that she was coming for us, so she pushed us out the door and tried to handle it herself. What is with this family and self-sacrifice?”

Nakagawa’s brow furrowed. “Who’s this other ‘she’ you keep referring to?”

“The Shikai Clan’s oyabun is a woman,” Kagome explained.

He blinked, surprised.

“Screw this!” Tora exclaimed, and he turned on his heel and stormed towards the shrine entrance. “I’m getting my stuff and I’m going back to Tokyo.”

“Tora—” Kagome pled.

“They have her!” he shouted back at her, his eyes red and glossy. “I love her, and they have her.”

“You’re doing exactly what they want,” Bikini Girl assured, her arms crossed against her chest. 

“I don’t care.”

“Panicking will only get you killed by the oyabun. Or tortured which will put the rest of your family at risk.”

“I said I don’t care,” he repeated. “I’m going back and I’m going to save her.”

“Maybe if Sesshoumaru—” Kagome began.

“Have you seen his hands?” he asked incredulously. “The oyabun is a damn kirin and he’s half-dead from trying to get his %$@#ing gauntlets to work. I’d last longer than he would at this point.” He shook his head. “No, I’m going and none of you are stopping me.”

“Hey, punk,” Grandpa called out to him.

Tora spun around to glare at him. 

“Yeah, you,” Grandpa grumped.

“What is it, old man?” Tora spat. “I know you don’t like me, so let me have it one last time if that makes you happy.”

His chin trembling, Grandpa took a deep, steadying breath and then nodded, girding his resolve. “I’m going with you.”

“What?”

“She’s my daughter. My only child. I can’t lose her either. Not without a fight, so I’m going with you.”

His jaw agape, Tora stared at him.

“I’m going with you, so let’s go. We don’t have long before the next train.”

“I…” he stuttered.

“Well? Get down so I can climb onto your back.”

Slowly, his bewilderment lifted, and he nodded. “Yeah, old man. Let’s go.” He knelt onto the ground and gestured for him to get on his back. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

Hastily, Grandpa hobbled from the entryway towards him.

“You’re being foolish,” Bikini Girl warned as he passed.

He sighed and touched her arm gently. “I’m sorry, but foolishness is a family tradition. It’s in the blood. Centuries of brave idiots trying to save the world.”

Before she could reply, he gave her a reassuring pat and slipped away, heading for Tora. When he reached his back, he placed both hands onto his shoulders and another set of smaller ones joined him.

Souta stared up at his grandfather, his despair streaking his face.

Both men turned towards him, the boy’s pain reflected in their eyes.

“I want to save her, too,” he said softly, and then blindly rubbed at his tears with the back of his hand. “Take me with you.”

“Souta-chan…” Tora began, “We can’t—”

“Take me with you,” he begged louder, his voice cracking.

“I can’t risk you, too.”

“But I want to save her.”

“We’re all going to save her,” Sesshoumaru interjected.

In unison, they reeled towards the forested path that wound up the mountainside to the forge and gasped.

Steadying himself against a conifer, Sesshoumaru met their shock with sunken eyes and pallid skin, its porcelain luster gone. Even his hair seemed gray, dark and tarnished. As he leaned for support, gravity bowed his shoulders and back, pulling him down as if to his grave. 

And yet he resisted it, staggering towards them, his will prevailing.

“Sesshoumaru,” Kagome called to him, her words muffled as she cupped her mouth in horror. “Did you start training again after I went to bed? Have you been training all night?”

He frowned, and for the briefest moment, shame flashed across his gaunt cheeks. Then he glanced down at his forearms and hands and at the raw, weeping flesh caged in his gleaming gauntlets, and sighed, his voice rasping and hollow. “The oyabun and her clan won’t wait for me to master these weapons at a leisurely pace. Even before your mother’s capture, I didn’t have weeks or months to prepare and train. I had days at most.”

“But—” she began.

“He’s right,” Nakagawa interrupted, “In fact, there’s less time than that even.”

They turned to him.

“That’s why I made the hike,” he explained, then quickly amended, “Other than for the sake of your loved one.”

“What happened?” Sesshoumaru asked.

“Something went down last night in Marunouchi and now a gang war is ripping through Tokyo. That yakuza clan you’re referring to, well, it seems like a schism erupted in the family and they’re tearing themselves apart.”

“Like how the Kuro-Sakura Clan destroyed themselves years ago?” Tora asked.

“Yeah, kind of like that. Blood in the streets and concentrated around a tower in the Financial District, one suspected of having yakuza connections, and in occupied neighborhoods in poorer areas, like old Namidabashi.”

Bikini Girl snorted. “And at the center of it is a supernatural beast who can level buildings and burn everything to the ground. A being whose presence alone can bring the strongest to their knees. That’s what you’ll be facing when you go back. Chaos and overwhelming power. None of you have a chance.”

“But we can’t cower here,” Tora insisted, gesturing to the shrine. “We have to save their mother. And we have to save the city. Or die trying.”

“No,” Sesshoumaru objected and he gazed down at his mangled hands, clenching them into fists. “I do.”

The courtyard gravel began to rattle.

Barely a breeze at first, wisps of youki churned. Slowly, the power grew, gusting as it spiraled around him like a tornado. The torrent tugged at his clothes and swept up pebbles and pine needles. His polished gauntlets luminesced, burning bright white as they absorbed his power and expelled the scent of ozone.

Jaws dropped, they watched him, barely blinking.

Then Kagome looked away. She could feel it. The discordant energy between his youki and the gauntlets. They were eating him alive, gulping down his power where there were only sips left in him.

His youki fluttered and the whipping winds turned choppy, flinging debris through the air. 

Through gritted teeth, he grunted as his power sputtered. The gauntlets dimmed and fresh rivulets of blood and fluid dripped down his forearms and hands. 

After a final burst, his youki dissipated, and he collapsed onto his knees in a spray of gravel. His chest heaving, he gasped for air, tendrils of saliva oozing from his mouth. Like dead weights, his arms hung from his shoulders, swollen and angry. He stared at his hands and his shame lasted longer than a flash.

An eerie silence fell over the forest, and the group stared at him, sharing his shame.

“Stop,” Souta whispered. Leaving Tora’s back, he shuffled over to Sesshoumaru and wrapped his arms around him in a hug, resting his head on his shoulder. “I don’t want you to die. I miss mama. I don’t want to miss you, too.”

_“…You are the rock…”_

With a hesitant step, Kagome felt herself being drawn forward, memories of her mother’s reassuring smile and touch playing though her head. She needed her mother now more than ever. Her family needed her now more than ever. And yet, for Sesshoumaru, she was the rock. Not her mother.

A heavy sigh rolled through Sesshoumaru, the weight of the boy’s heart almost unbearable.

His eyes downcast, Tora shook his head. “Sesshoumaru, you’re going to get yourself killed faster than any of us if you keep pushing it. Stay here and recover while we do what we can. Maybe after a few days, you’ll figure it out and save us all.” He spied back at Grandpa. “C’mon, old man, hop on so we can get going.”

_“…The thread that binds us…”_

The gravel crunched under Kagome’s feet, but she barely felt the stinging. Everyone was unraveling, torn apart by fear and desperation. Their own personal gang war. And there were no family meetings over curry to pull them back together again. There was only her and her resolve.

“Some punk and an old man,” Nakagawa scoffed, “If this oyabun is as powerful as you’re saying, what the hell are you two going to do other than spit into the wind?”

“Hey! You’re the one who came out here looking for help,” Tora growled as he hoisted Grandpa onto his back. “You’ve got no reason to complain.”

He jabbed a finger towards Sesshoumaru. “I came out here looking for his help. I came here looking for the Demon of Namidabashi. Not for a couple idiots eager to add themselves to the body count.”

An argument exploded between them, despair roiling to the surface and expelled as rage.

_“We only became our best selves through… you.”_

Reaching out, Kagome touched Sesshoumaru’s shoulder. She could feel his thinness. His exhaustion. But his strength was still there. Youki whispering beneath the surface. Pride, too. Not in himself or his station, but in his family and in his city as their spirit of hope. It was in his will to serve them and keep them from harm. To protect that which made him happy. Yet, that devotion wasn’t enough.

_“You saved us both.”_

Such things must flow both ways.

“I believe in you,” she said to him, her voice nearly drowned out by angry shouts.

He blinked, and his dull eyes rose from his hands to her gentle yet proud face.

“I believe in you,” she repeated louder. 

Her words dragged Souta from his lament next. Rubbing his tears away, he spied up at her from Sesshoumaru’s shoulder, listening.

“I’ll always believe in you,” she continued, “In our past and in our future, across time and space. No matter what. Because… I love you. And not just me. Your family loves you. Just like you love us. Just like you believe in us. And right now, more than anything, you need to know that.”

“I believe in you,” Souta murmured into his ear, then gave him one last hug before letting him go. “I love you and I believe in you.”

“If you succeed. If you fail. It doesn’t change,” she added and took a step back, giving him an affirming squeeze before she slipped away. “We’ll always love you. We’ll always believe in you.”

Gold light glimmered in his eyes and he nodded. Then his attention rested on his ravaged hands. His fingers twitched and through a grimace, he slowly closed them into a fist.

And the gravel began to rattle again.

Her face reflecting warm confidence, Kagome joined Souta’s side, reaching for his hand to hold, and together, they waited.

_“We’ll always love you. We’ll always believe in you.”_

Youki swirled and buffeted against their bodies, ruffling their hair and pulling at the hems of their clothes. It blustered in their ears as it gusted. His gauntlets glowed hot, blinding white. The same as before, and now, he poured all he had into them.

The arguments and shouting died, stripped of their rage like the nearby conifers were stripped of their pine needles. With forearms raised, protecting their faces, the others stared in awe as the torrents surged.

Then came the hum.

It was quiet at first. Dismissed as a trick of the mind. But Kagome could feel it. The harmony between the gauntlets and the youki, resonating together where there was only discordance before. She smiled. Reciprocation was the key. That’s why they were gauntlets and not swords. Hands that can build and break. Or that can give and take. Like love. And belief.

“I believe in you,” she called out to him.

“I know,” he replied.

The hum grew louder, vibrating the ground. The air around him rippled, distorting his slumped figure on the ground. Then gradually, the winds lifted him up. A radiance suffused his body with silver light, obfuscating him further from their eyes.

And an old feeling struck her, turning her skin to gooseflesh. How many years had it been since she felt that power?

“Souta,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. “You’re about to meet the real him.”

With a beaming grin, he scoffed, “I already have. This is just the badass version.”

A halo of long hair radiated from Sesshoumaru’s head and his molten gold irises turned bright red and swallowed up his sclerae. Eerily, he smiled, his mouth filled with sharp teeth. He hung there, buoyant on currents of power. A monster. A demon. A daiyoukai of old.

And with an elegant flick of his wrist, he dispelled the power, sending it spiraling back into his gauntlets.

Rocks and rubble pelted the ground. 

And he landed on his feet.

Everyone stared, primal instincts about predators and prey prickling their nerves, and they began to eye the closest cover.

“That was so cool!” Souta shouted, his exhilaration turning him jittery.

Unimpressed, Sesshoumaru shrugged as he ran his fingers through his long hair, wrinkling his nose at the loss of his bangs.

Kagome gestured to her forehead and cheeks. “Your crescent moon and stripes are back.”

Turning his wrists to spy at his old, familiar, magenta markings, he snorted. “Fleetingly so, I’m afraid.”

“What do you mean?”

“The gauntlets amplify youki,” Bikini Girl interjected as she strode across the courtyard towards them. “They don’t generate it, so they can only work with as much as he channels into them,” She smirked at him, “Now that he’s learned how to do it.”

“So, that means…”

“I have a time limit,” he explained. “If I exceed it, I will die. My power at a price.”

“Your power,” Bikini Girl corrected, “And a chance.” Then she turned on her heel and met everyone’s eyes, lingering longer on Grandpa. “And with a chance, you might win. So, let’s get you all suited up.”

Tora frowned. “I thought you couldn’t make enchanted weapons.”

“Punk,” she scolded, “I’m Bikini Girl and I come from a prestigious line of weaponsmiths. I have toys. Believe me.”


	53. Space Truck

Chapter Fifty-Three: Space Truck

The sweltering heat of summer baked downtown Tokyo. Skyscrapers, monuments of glass and concrete, reflected gold under the intense sunlight, and at their foundations, the air rippled like a mirage over scorching asphalt. In Marunouchi, the bustling parkways were eerily still, stripped of the lively fervor generated by weekday stock trading and corporate business. Instead, the city was quiet, battened down in the lull of a firestorm. 

At a nearby intersection, a police sergeant stood at the ready, perspiration beading her forehead. Ahead of her, a line of police cruisers spanned both sides of the street, their doors flared open, creating a barricade of reinforced steel. Inside them, police officers perched at the edges of their seats, the hot afternoon an afterthought as they stared unblinkingly at the warzone halfway down the block.

They watched the armored trucks and sedans cluttering the parkway, still idling where they had been abandoned. Disturbing lumps in tailored suits lay strewn on the ground around the vehicles, the bodies of men riddled with bullets by brothers with whom they had shared saké and traded jokes. Men they had trusted. Overnight, their family fractured, and now a civil war shook the black tower they had once called home.

In the distance, gunfire popped, echoing through the city’s canyons.

The sergeant wiped at the dripping perspiration stinging her eyes before spying back over her shoulder at an officer leaning close to a radio. “They’re still shooting,” she remarked. “What’s the ETA on an assist from the Special Assault Team?”

The officer shook his head. “All teams are dealing with pockets of fighting elsewhere in the city. Places where the public are at risk. They’re not killing anyone but each other here.”

“Excuses,” she scoffed, then returned her attention to the wrecked stretch of parkway at the foot of the massive tower. “They’re just afraid of the shitstorm that’s already hit, beginning with how this yakuza clan got so much firepower despite our strict gun control efforts. A few handguns here and there, fine. But they have assault rifles. We can’t even think about approaching. Right now, the best we can hope for is to contain them.”

“With what?” the officer asked, gesturing to the surrounding cruisers. “Most of us don’t even have sidearms. Crowd control gear at best. If the violence spills out this way, what are we going to do?”

“Hold the line.”

“How? With our bodies?”

The sergeant turned towards him. “We can’t let any innocent people die. Even if it means sacrificing our own lives.” She tapped her badge. “That’s what it means to serve. To be the hero.”

“Even in the face of impossible odds?”

“Especially then,” a man replied.

Both officers spun around, searching for him, his baritone voice one neither recognized.

An arrow struck the ground, its bulbous tip shattering in a plume of white smoke that curled and swelled, filling the street.

The officers began to shout, huddling behind their cruiser doors. With their non-lethal weapons at the ready, their eyes searched the thick veil of smoke, spying only the silhouettes of their own as they scurried for a better position.

Slowly the veil rose, dissipating with the offshore breeze.

In the street, at the fore of the barricade, three figures appeared. A man sporting a two-toned leather jacket and a mask printed with a tiger’s maw. A young woman in white with a green skirt and a bow in hand. And towering over them both, a man they’d only seen from afar or in the grainy videos that swarmed the internet. Through his snarling mask, his gold eyes, devoid of humanity, stared down at them. The Demon of Namidabashi had come.

“We will handle this,” he commanded, cutting through the murmuring that rippled through the ranks. “No more innocents will die today.”

“We-We don’t answer to you,” the officer blurted out, his stuttering undercutting his accusation. “You’re a vigilante.”

“I’m this city’s guardian,” he asserted, his tone turning dark, and his eyes blazed as he glared at the man. “All who jeopardize her people answer to me. No matter what station they serve.”

He swallowed and took a step back.

“You’re here to help?” the sergeant asked. “All three of you? You’re going into that tower?”

“Ma’am, they’re not…” the officer interrupted.

Without looking away, she held her hand up, silencing him. “And when you go, you vow that no innocent people will die?”

“You have my word,” the demon assured.

She nodded, clear-eyed and strong. “Good. If that’s the case, then what do you need from us? How can we support you?”

He snorted softly, surprised. 

“We can’t do anything from here,” she added.

“Then do as you vowed and hold the line. We will clear the way and leave the wounded and toothless for you to handle. But do not let your guard down.”

“Consider it done.”

He nodded a bow in her direction, then turned on his heel, heading down the street towards the chaos, his companions at his side.

“Ma’am,” the officer whispered.

“I know,” she admitted, watching them walk away. “But we don’t have much choice. It’s a warzone. We don’t stand a chance. But you’ve seen the videos like the rest of us. So, let’s see what a guardian can do.”

OOOOOOOOOO

With detached grace, the three strode down the parkway, keeping step with each other. The abandoned city surrounded them, open storefronts with no one in them and half-eaten breakfasts at every sidewalk café table still waiting for the check.

“Holy shit,” Tora laughed, grinning beneath his mask. “Are we doing that cool thing from the movies where the good guys walk in a line down a street towards danger like complete badasses.”

Sesshoumaru sighed under his breath.

“Ooh, one of us should be lighting a cigarette. Though obviously not Kagome-san.”

“I must admit this is pretty badass,” Kagome agreed, thrusting out her chin. “Especially when Sesshoumaru told that cop off.”

“Right after you shot the gas-tipped arrow into the middle of them.”

“The effort was to minimize the risk of their interference, Sesshoumaru interjected. “I intend for them to be a net that catches any cowardly escapees who emerge once we launch our offensive. We did not do that to look _cool_.”

Kagome and Tora booed.

Sesshoumaru snorted indignantly.

“But we are relying on that detective guy to do more than that, right?” Kagome asked.

He nodded, eyeing the empty sky surrounding the massive tower. “Even with the return of my powers, sieging this fortress will be a hard-won assault. If the detective is successful, the support he’ll secure might grant us an edge we’ll need to succeed.”

Tora sighed. “Too bad we didn’t have time to spring Akane from the police impound lot. Having her might have given us an edge, too. Or made our entrance just a little cooler, especially if I rode her through the smoke bomb.”

“We will retrieve your motorcycle when we are done here,” he assured him.

“I don’t like the idea of leaving her behind…” He paused, his words trailing off. Then he swallowed and forced them out. “Just like I was willing to leave you behind.”

Still walking, Sesshoumaru turned his head to regard him.

“I let myself become overwhelmed by fear,” Tora admitted. “I’ve spent the past year giving you guidance. Advising you on what it means to serve a community.” He chuckled ruefully. “I’ve even coached Kagome on the importance of letting the police do their job, but also believing in you when it was our turn to fight. But what did I do this morning? When the moment came, I was squabbling with some poor detective who came to us for help when I should have been at your side, lending you my support.”

“Tora-san…” Kagome began.

“No,” he continued. “I let you down. I let you all down. Because I was afraid. Terrified. I still am.”

Sesshoumaru’s attention returned to the parkway ahead and the jumbled mess of vehicles scattered across it. “A friend once told me that overcoming failures is never easy, and neither is becoming the person you were meant to be.”

Tora laughed under his breath. “Sage advice from a brilliant man.”

“That aspect of the man’s character is debatable,” he noted wryly, “But, the advice he gave has merit.”

“It does.” Then he exhaled a heavy sigh. “Thank you.”

Sesshoumaru breathed in deep through his nose, scenting the air, and scanned the area for points of cover, his attention settling on the tower’s porte-cochere. “And we will save her.”

Both Kagome and Tora looked to him, and the fear buried deep within them surface in their weary eyes.

“I swore a vow. No more innocents will die today.”

They nodded, and their chests swelled, clearing away any doubt they still harbored. No matter what, by the end of the day, they would get Mama back.

“And now I believe,” Sesshoumaru added, the youki in his gauntlets spiraling out, catching the tails of his tunic and silver hair. “It’s time for a little demonstration.”

A gust of wind buffeted against their bodies and when they looked to him, he was gone.

A silver blur jetted down the parkway, weaving between vehicles and leaping over bodies. Heartbeats filled his ears. Some thumped slowly, weak from blood loss. Others thundered so quickly that they almost hummed. But no matter their strength, all beating hearts betrayed themselves, revealing his prey while they knelt behind concrete terraces and pillars. They formed a bulwark of assault rifles around the tower’s porte-cochere, one that had been well tested against their yakuza brethren.

The stink of blood and secretions filled the air, too, spoiling in the blistering heat. Approaching the tower from the parkway had sprung a trap and the dead men and perforated vehicles proved it effective. That is against mere humans with questionable taste in fashion.

He landed beside an armored truck, his sudden stop sending his hair and tunic whipping. His gauntlets flared white as he poured youki into them and in his next breath, the power surged back into him twentyfold. Glowing bright, his sclerae turned red and his fangs sharpened into knives. A test of strength was in order.

He grabbed the truck and its heavy steel crumple like tissue in his hands. A savage growl bubbled from his throat, and the multi-ton vehicle started to creak and whine as he slowly hefted it off the ground. Then with a snarl, he threw it into the air. Leaping up after it, he gracefully spun, bringing his foot up and kicking it hard with his whole body.

The truck rocketed through the air down the parkway, arcing upwards towards the horizon. As it blasted along, it smashed through a billboard advertising a local museum’s new meteor exhibit which sent it somersaulting towards Tokyo Bay until it was nothing more than a glinting speck in the distance.

Nimbly, Sesshoumaru landed where truck had once been, his body squared with the porte-cochere and he awaited his prey’s answer to his entrance.

To his smug satisfaction, gasps and whimpering terror were their replies, though it was nearly drowned out by another man’s uninhibited cheering.

“%$#& yes!” Tora screamed from afar, overflowing with schoolboy giddiness as he and Kagome jogged towards him. “I’ve been waiting for this moment! It didn’t make it all the way into space, but damn, that was close enough! It must be in the bay somewhere by now. So %$#&ing badass! Do it again!”

Smirking to himself, Sesshoumaru snorted. “One space truck is all you get.”

Before his disappointment could register, the rapid bark of an assault rifle shattered the air.

Reaching out, Tora grabbed Kagome by her Kevlar vest and together, they dove behind the closest armored truck. The truck rang brightly as the bullets struck it, speckling its matte black finish with shining, silver dents.

The spray of gunfire strafed across the parkway towards Sesshoumaru, chipping away at the asphalt. With a burst of speed, he dodged their volley. Zigzagging his way towards the heartbeats hidden in the porte-cochere, he left a trail of ghostly afterimages for them to chase, each one closer than the last. He exploded into covered courtyard, his tunic and mane flaring around him as he bounded off the pillars, bullets whistling past him.

Yelping in surprise, suited men sporting sunglasses and black rifles stumbled back, their clever trap spoiled. Triggers pulled in terror, their deafening gunfire turned wild and bullets littered the porte-cochere, fracturing the tiling and shattering the doors and windows into the tower. Tinkling shards of granite and glass rained down, pelting the ground, and through it, Sesshoumaru sprang.

His clip spent, a man reached into his pocket for another when Sesshoumaru grabbed him by the collar and flung him into the back of his companion. With a grunt, the men flew forward, bouncing off a nearby pillar. Their rifles spun across the ground and in a fluid sprint, Sesshoumaru scooped them up. He dug his claws into them and in a hail of polymer plastic and metal, he ripped them apart.

The barrel of another rifle swept towards him and he spun to one side. 

Time slowed.

He could hear the rifle’s mechanisms sliding and clicking. Ammunition loading. The hammer striking. Gunpowder igniting. The explosion and the bullet’s flight. The ringing of the ejected shell as it danced across the ground.

His senses were everything he remembered… and more. Had he always been this fast? This aware? Or had it simply been so long since he’d wielded his own power that he’d forgotten what it felt like? Or was it something more?

He snatched the rifle by its barrel, yanking its bearer forward into his readied fist. Barely a tap sent the man off his feet, senseless as he tumbled back through shattered hotel door and into the lobby.

The gauntlets, perhaps. Or…

Bullets whizzed by Sesshoumaru’s head and he shook away his thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to wonder.

Twirling the rifle once, he carried it like a club and started to swing. One-by-one, he mowed through the remaining men until he broke the rifle against the last one’s back. The man collapsed into a writhing mess of pain, joining his brothers in their moaning and pathetic pleas for mercy.

Glass crunched and he coolly looked up to see Tora and Kagome surveying the damage.

Whistling, Tora knelt to pick up one of the rifles and started dismantling it in a gentler way compared to the fate of the others. “Terrifyingly efficient, as per usual.”

“You expected anything less,” Sesshoumaru replied.

“Anything less would not be befitting of a youkai lord.”

He snorted, amused.

“Is there anyone left in the lobby?” Kagome asked, peering into the darkness.

Lightly, Sesshoumaru sniffed the air. Then he shook his head. “No, they have fled or are engaged elsewhere.” He turned to Tora. “The plan can proceed as intended. If you encounter any problems, call me.”

Smirking, he held up a dog whistle, spinning it between his fingers before palming it.

He looked to Kagome next. “Are you ready?”

She nodded.

“I know that you’ve probably already realized this,” Tora added, “And I know this will make me sound like a misogynistic asshole for asking, but those gas-tipped arrows won’t penetrate glass. They’ll just shatter against it.”

“Don’t worry,” she assured with a smile. “I have a plan. Just be there. And believe in me.”

He chuckled. “I already do.”

Then he sprinted through the shattered doors into the lobby and the darkness beyond.


	54. Mind Over Weapon

Chapter Fifty-Four: Mind Over Weapon

With kind eyes behind a snarling mask, Sesshoumaru looked down at Kagome. “Shall we?”

Smiling through her mask, she nodded at him. “Let’s do it.”

Sweeping his long mane to the side, he knelt onto the ground, glass shards crackling under his boots as he turned and presented his back to her. 

She blinked, and his cotton tunic transformed into firerat fur and his fine, silver hair turned coarse and white. For a moment, she saw a broad back on a smaller frame and the hilt of an old, ragged sword. She saw Inuyasha. He spied back at her, exuding fearless confidence with a sly smirk.

“Kagome?” he called to her, but his voice was wrong. It was polished marble when it should have been raw granite.

She blinked again, and his red coat turned white except for splashes of color over his left shoulder and along the tails of his tunic and sash.

Sesshoumaru waited. “Are you all right?”

“It’s just that…” she began, wistfulness stealing her words, “This is how Inuyasha and I used to go into battle, and for a second, you reminded me of him…”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—"

“It’s an honor,” he interjected smoothly. “To fill that role for you. For this world. Not to replace it, but to live up to it instead.”

Her smile returned, wrinkling her eyes.

He nodded towards his back, beckoning her to him, and she felt herself drawn forward, answering his call. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged his sides with her legs. Gently, he hooked his arms under her knees, and without the least bit of effort, he stood up. Feeling supported, she leaned back, her hands receding to his shoulders, and she took in the chaos around her.

Strewn across the ground amid the rubble, men groaned feebly, bodies bruised and ribs broken. Nimbly, they wove past them towards the porte-cochere’s exit. The warm sun shone down of them when they cleared the exit, and in the distance, the blockade of police cruisers crept forward, cautiously approaching the tower along the frontage road. Soon, they enveloped the armored vehicles and sedans, officers scurrying as they dragged the wounded to safety.

Spying up at the tower’s dizzying apex, Sesshoumaru paid them no mind. With the flick of his fingers, he activated his gauntlets, and she felt his youki pulse against her calves and the back of her thighs. It cascaded down, ruffling his pants and tugging at his tunic tails. And when it splashed across his boots, it began to swirl around them like a pair of whirlpools. He stepped up into the air as if climbing an invisible staircase until he floated steadily above the ground. He hovered for a breath, testing the strength and flow of his power, and then like Mercury in flight, he sprang upward. Black threading silver, their hair whipped behind them as they soared, the city around them a blur. But as they reached the apogee of his leap, everything slowed and came into focus. His youki flared like a cushion and they landed midair several stories up. 

A gasp escaped Kagome as she peered down at the ground. The police swarmed the street, their lights flashing atop their cruisers, but beyond them, there were only empty blocks of a city in lockdown. She felt his muscles flex beneath her body, gathering power for another leap.

Then he sprang again.

The wind lashed her face and tore tears from her eyes. Her heart thundered in her chest, not out of fear but with exhilaration as the city gradually shrank away.

“It’s amazing,” she remarked, her voice filled with wonder. “I don’t remember you flying. At least not often.”

“It’s a very youki-demanding feat,” he replied as he alit on air nearly thirty stories above the ground. “With the loss of my pelt which served as a reservoir of power, flight requires more precision than I’m otherwise accustomed to.”

“Oh? Should we have infiltrated through the building with Tora?” she asked. “If you spend too much youki, you could die.”

“His success depends on your eyes and skill. Our plan stands a greater chance of victory with this approach.”

“But still…”

“You need not concern yourself,” he assured, spying back at her as he readied his next leap. “Being a shadow of my former self for so long has made me frugal whereas before I lacked restraint.”

She laughed. “I thought being restrained was your defining feature back in the day.”

“Perhaps in personality,” he agreed, smirking, “But slaughtering a thousand youkai with a single sword swing was hardly a measured response in most situations.”

“You’re talking about the sword you pulled from your arm?” she wondered aloud and shook her head. “I barely remember. Defeating Naraku in that final battle was all a blur towards the end.”

“Bakusaiga. The breadth of that sword’s power was breathtaking. With one swing, any foe that touched the wave was incinerated. And anything living that touched the foe was destroyed by the same power. A chain reaction of death like a fanning tree branch. Proof that I no longer needed the charity of my father’s bequests for I had surpassed him in my own right. And yet…”

She waited, enjoying the thrill as gravitational forces pulled her down as he leapt up a dozen more stories.

“And yet,” he continued. “It was power sealed within a weapon, like Tessaiga or Tenseiga. Or Tokijin for that matter. I possessed the ability to wield those weapons but that’s where the doubt lies. Because drawing on the power stored within a weapon is different than drawing on that which exists within yourself.”

Kagome laughed ruefully under her breath. “Where’s the line? What’s you and what’s the weapon?”

He made another leap, the crest of the tower racing towards them.

“Sometimes I wonder,” she continued as she reached for the compound bow slung across her back, “Was it me or was it the sacred bow that phased my purification arrow through Naraku’s monstrous form as he loomed in the sky? Was it me or was it Kikyou’s soul that allowed the arrow to pass through his body unobstructed? Was it me or was it fate that guided its tip unerringly to the Shikon-no-Tama, letting it touch nothing else?”

Less than a dozen stories remained as he approached the apex of his leap.

She reached back, feeling the synthetic fletching of a gas-tipped arrow. “Right now, though, I believe in my power and my purpose. I won’t let doubt in myself, in us, or our mission to have a hold over me, because there is no line between me and my bow anymore.”

OOOOOOOOOO

With brushed steel doors and muraled panels, the elevator lobby at the penthouse floor teemed with men. Wearing tailored suits with flaring collars, they patrolled the hallway anxiously, whispering to each other with guns in hand. Turning rust red as it dried, blood smeared the polished, wood floor, creating a grisly trail that ended in bodies piled into a corner. Brothers in appearance, there was hardly a difference between the living and the dead except that it was the Shikai loyalists whose hearts still beat.

The elevator dinged once softly, and the arrow indicating up glowed white.

Their conversations dying, the men looked up, their eyes pinned to the digital readout over the elevator doors. Single digit numbers crept up to double digits. The elevator car was climbing.

Nervously, several unloaded their magazines. Stacked, copper-colored bullets confirmed they were full and with a clack, they shoved them back into their guns. Pulling on the slides, they racked them, putting a bullet in every chamber.

And then they waited as the number rose, clearing the eighties.

With a dozen floors left, the number hit triple digits. The men raised their guns at the sealed doors, their aim steady. Others sidled towards the floor-to-ceiling window, hoping the bright sunlight blinded their enemies long enough to give them an edge.

Sweat dappled temples as the silence broke with the hum of the approaching car.

The number ticked to the penthouse floor.

The elevator dinged twice.

And the doors glided open.

Deafening gunfire filled the air, echoing off the walls of the lobby. Ringing steel added to the cacophony as bullets shredded the back of the car. Through gritted teeth, the men inhaled the stink of burning gunpowder, their fingers pinned to triggers as they unloaded bullets in a steady stream. The popping gunshots thinned, replaced by the clicking of empty magazines.

Ragged breaths tore at the men’s throats as adrenalin coursed through them. Glancing at each other, they chuckled, tickled by relief. They were all still standing. But when their attention returned to the car, they froze. In the wake of their ferocious onslaught, only an empty elevator awaited them, its lights flickering.

A shadow fell through the window.

The men spied out over their shoulders and their jaws dropped.

With eyes burning gold, the demon appeared floating in midair, his hair and tunic weightless from the momentum. High on his back, a woman perched, her glare as bright as his.

The men’s eyes widened when they spotted the bow in her hands, drawn and ready. They felt for their pockets, groping for fresh magazines, but it was too late.

With a thwip, the nocked arrow flew, and as it rocketed towards the window, it disappeared.

They exhaled a shaky breath.

And then in their midst, the arrow reappeared, whole and its trajectory unbroken. It struck the floor with a loud hiss and a cloud of white smoke filled the lobby.

She drew again and in quick succession, three more arrows manifested, each one striking the floor and releasing more billowing smoke.

The dense smoke enveloped the men, turning them all into shifting silhouettes as they fumbled through it. Desperately, they waved their hands, trying to clear it, but instead it simply curled and flowed, undaunted. Confusion followed, and they started to shout, the cohesion of their ranks faltering.

And as doubt seeped into their resolve, the ceiling panel in the elevator car slid to the side.

On nimble feet, Tora silently dropped down. Cautiously, he surveyed the disarray as he reached for the batons strapped to his thighs. Grinning under his mask, he gave each a handy twirl and then charged into the fray.

Tiny, blue arcs crackled at the tip of one baton and he jabbed it hard into the closest man’s abdomen. Through grinding teeth, a stuttering cry burst from the man as he seized from the electricity, his body jerking. Noticing his distress, another man spun and when he spotted Tora, he lunged for his back, bringing his gun to bear. Pivoting smoothly, Tora dodged to the side, his free baton arcing upward and he swatted at the man’s hand, sending his gun flying. With a twirl, he then jammed the baton’s end into his gut and hit the button. Electricity coursed into the man and he twitched uncontrollably.

The clacking of reloaded guns followed, and Tora fled, disappearing into the smoke.

Like a shark gliding beneath the water’s surface, he wove his way through the lobby as the remaining men clustered together, back-to-back. 

One man strayed, lost in the smoke. Hearing him struggle, the others called out to him, but before he could answer, an arm wrapped around his neck in a sleeper hold. Another shock and another writhing body on the floor.

Panic rippled through the ranks. 

Muzzles flashed as the men fired into the unknown, and when their magazines emptied, a gloved hand reached for one, dragging him in. Sickening thumps and a crackling taser followed, turning grunts into agonized groans until there was only one man left.

“Who are you?” he whimpered, his gun aiming wildly as he backed up against the window.

“Nobody worth remembering,” Tora taunted, the smoke distorting the direction of his voice. “Kind of like you.”

“Then… Then what do you want?”

“I want my girlfriend back,” he growled.

Charging in from the side, Tora flanked him. With a finger-breaking strike from the baton, the man’s gun clattered onto the floor. Crying out, he grasped at his mangled hand. Tora grabbed him by the forehead and thrust his head into the window. The window rang out from the blow and the man slumped senselessly onto his side.

His heart racing in his chest, Tora gazed down at the matte black batons in his hands and smiled. “These %&$#ing things are the best.”

“Are you all right, Tora?!” Kagome shouted, her voice muffled by the glass.

“Yeah,” he replied, and he slid the batons back into their holsters. “I hope Bikini Girl doesn’t want her toys back, because these are mine forever.”

“In that case, expect her to make you work at the shrine as payment for them.”

“Totally worth it!” he assured, then he furrowed an eyebrow. “Are you %&$#ing flying, Sesshoumaru?”

Hovering in the air, the daiyoukai shrugged noncommittally.

Tora sighed. “I’m a kitten among gods.”

An icy gale blew through them, bringing with it a vision of a snow-blanketed forest, eerie in its silence. Black trunks with spindly branches reached towards the gray sky, desolate and begging for spring.

“She knows we’re here,” Sesshoumaru warned.

“It’s sooner than we expected,” Tora noted, shivering from the imagined cold, “But we still have time, right? We just need to find Higurashi-san and then we can bail. After that, we can regroup and make another plan to take the oyabun out.”

He breathed in, scenting the air, and his attention shifted across the face of the tower. An edge hardened his voice. “Back up, Tora.”

Nodding, Tora took a few steps back, and Sesshoumaru freed a hand. He raised it up, making a fist, and put it through the window. The thick glass shattered, shards raining down. Tora kicked away the remaining sharp edges along the frame’s base. Still afloat, Sesshoumaru turned his back to the cleared window.

“Kagome,” he commanded, his eyes still locked on the tower, “Go with him and find your mother. When she’s safely with you, head for the stairwell and escape. Do not wait for me.”

“But—” she objected.

“Do not wait for me.”

Gently, Tora reached up, grabbing onto her sides and bearing her weight as she slipped from Sesshoumaru’s back.

“Don’t worry,” he assured as he shepherded Kagome from the edge. “We’ll take care of our part. Just take care of yours… We believe in you.”

Sesshoumaru nodded and he drifted away from the window.

“Wait,” Kagome called out to him.

He paused.

“Maybe you didn’t surpass your father like you thought years ago, but you’re more than your weapons now. Just like I proved that I’m more than my bow or my destiny.”

For a moment, he glanced towards her, and through the gaps in his mask, she saw his serious expression soften. He nodded again. 

And then he was gone, shooting across the face of the tower, his destination unknown.


	55. An Empty Castle

Chapter Fifty-Five: An Empty Castle

Jin crossed her arms against her chest.

With a bubbling hiss, the coffee maker on the counter began to percolate. Its brushed steel casing mottled with stains, dark brown drips trailed down from it to the counter, itself a disaster of spilled creamer and spent packets of sugar. The chaos ended at an overflowing waste bin heaped with discarded paper cups and stinking of stale coffee.

She scowled at the mess. Somewhere deep inside, she knew it was all a metaphor. 

And she hated metaphors.

Behind her, the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Headquarters bustled. Excited shouting mixed with the blaring intercom, assaulting her ears. Yet their constant presence for the last few days had slowly inured her to their abrasiveness. And besides that, it wasn’t the worst thing happening to the air. As pungent as the coffee, the detective bullpen reeked of spoiled takeout and a medley of body odors, exacerbated by the summer heatwave. She gave her blouse a light sniff and wrinkled her nose. Even she, a woman who prided herself on professionalism, could use a shower.

Beginning with the collapsing parking structure near a yakuza nightclub and continuing with an ongoing gang war, the week had been a whirlwind for the police. And as she watched the coffee trickle into the carafe, she was thankful that she wasn’t a member of the organized crime division who hadn’t seen this nightmare coming.

Outbreaks of violence peppered the city, heaviest in Marunouchi and in the poorer neighborhoods near Namidabashi where the yakuza often leaned the hardest. In that time, a few revelations had rippled through the police force, starting with the secret consolidation of the yakuza clans under one family and that their beleaguered oyabun was a woman. A foreign woman.

She sighed. Perhaps if a detective of her caliber had been in the organized crime division, it wouldn’t have taken them so long to figure out the change in leadership.

The flow of coffee into the carafe slowed to a drip, and she removed it from the warmer and filled her travel mug.

However, her real case to solve was the mystery of her disappearing partner, Inspector Nakagawa.

For a detective who always seemed to show up when she least cared for his presence, he’d been missing for days. Calls and texts to him went unanswered, but they were still going through, which meant his cellphone wasn’t dead, and after almost a week, that became proof he was alive enough to charge the battery. Reflecting on how long it had been, she realized that she hadn’t even seen him at the ruins of the parking structure, surprising considering his heated defense of the Demon of Namidabashi weeks ago in the shipping yard.

She frowned at the name. An alias for a man who in her opinion was just as much a criminal as the yakuza trash he beat up. The city was prone to enough chaos without adding the antics of a vigilante, one who assaulted the police and fouled up crime scenes.

Absently, she perused the ransacked selection of creamers and sweeteners.

Considering the vigilante’s disregard for law and order, she still didn’t understand why Nakagawa, as a detective, didn’t see him for the criminal he was. Afterall, the metropolitan police force was more than capable of handling the problems besieging their city, and they certainly didn’t need some weirdo in a mask making them worse.

Finding nothing to her taste, she left her coffee black and screwed the lid onto her flask.

She chuckled to herself. Maybe he had decided to give up detective work and become a vigilante himself. The Masked Fedora or something dumb like that.

With her flask in hand, she turned on her heel, and her jaw dropped.

Across the haphazard arrangement of desks, she spied Nakagawa. With his coat slung over the back of his duct-taped chair, he stooped at his desk, rifling through its drawers. Objects clanged as he sifted through the contents, mumbling under his breath.

She wove across the room, her heels clacking.

“Nakagawa!” she called out to him, surprised by the worry wavering her voice.

He jumped, stumbling into his chair and sending it rolling into another desk. “Fumiko, you scared me!”

“For one,” she chided with a hand on her hip, “Don’t call me by my first name. And secondly, where have you been? It’s been days and the city has gone to hell.” 

“I know… I just—"

“You didn’t reply to my texts or call me back.”

“I’m sorry. That was rude of me…”

She nodded, appraising his apology, and satisfied with its beginning.

His attention gravitated back to his desk drawer and he started picking through it again. “…But I really don’t have the time to explain, so I promise I’ll make it up to you later.”

And his apology had started off so well.

“No, you’re going to explain it to me right now,” she insisted.

“I can’t,” he replied, waving her off. 

“Why not?”

“Look, just go back to drinking your coffee and being the first at crime scenes.”

Her eyes narrowed into a glare and she slammed his desk drawer closed.

He yipped, barely yanking his fingers away in time.

“Fumiko!” he growled, hitting the desk. “I don’t have time for your bruised ego… Or your apparent concern over my wellbeing as potential husband material.”

She gasped with rage.

“I need to find my radio,” he muttered, ignoring her. Then his eyes brightened, and he swept a messy pile of papers aside, revealing a black, handheld radio. “All right!”

He flipped on the power switch and turned the dial, adjusting the frequency. The flat drawl of air traffic control crackled through the speakers.

“Are you on the aerial support frequency?” she asked, her anger tempered by confusion.

He held up a finger, shushing her, and then pressed the talk button. “Tokyo-One-Alpha? This is Metro-Ground.”

He released the button and waited.

Another voice replied, the sound of rhythmic whipping in the background. “Tokyo-One-Alpha here.”

He pressed the button again. “What’s your ETA for shift change?”

“We’ve just finished refueling and should be arriving at the downtown helipad in ten minutes.”

He smiled with relief. “There’s an update to the manifest. Inspector Nakagawa will be joining the next patrol.”

There was a long pause filled with empty static.

He swallowed.

“Roger. Tokyo-One-Alpha out.”

He clicked the radio off.

“What are you doing?” she asked coldly. “We’re not on assignment with the aerial patrols. The chief inspector has us on the ground overseeing checkpoints and leading investigations into contained skirmishes.”

He picked up his coat. “That’s babysitting and clean-up duty. This is more important than that.”

“More important? You’re violating orders.”

He smirked. “Actually, I was missing before this whole gang war started, so I was never here to receive orders and thus, I can’t violate them.”

“The chief inspector isn’t going to care about semantics when he reprimands you. You could lose your badge.”

“Then I lose my badge.”

She shook her head, stunned.

Taking advantage of her shock, he turned to slip past her, his eyes on the elevator. But as he took a step, she grabbed his arm, her nails digging in. 

“I don’t understand,” she said, staring at him. “What are you willing to throw your entire career away for?”

Grizzled with stubble, his face warmed with a genuine smile. “Gods are about to clash, and if I can help one side prevail over the other. If I can give our guy even the slightest edge, I have to do it. Millions of lives are counting on me.”

“Our guy?” she muttered.

He covered her hand with his own and gave her a gentle squeeze. “I have to go. He needs me.”

“He needs you?” she repeated, and then her expression sharpened. “You’re talking about the demon, aren’t you? The Demon of Namidabashi?”

“Uh…” he hedged.

“Dammit,” she groaned. “You’re allying yourself with a vigilante? He’s as bad as the yakuza. Breaking and entering. Assaulting police officers. Property destruction. Racketeering. Arson.”

“I mean… yeah, but…”

“You’ve gone insane.”

He sighed. “Any other time, I’d agree with you. But he’s not the only superpowered person out there. The Shikai oyabun isn’t human. Our forces are struggling against a bunch of assholes with assault rifles. What’s going to happen to them when they face a kirin?”

“A kirin?”

“I know. I know. It’s like you said. Insanity. But that parking garage didn’t collapse because of a regular fistfight. If getting the demon some aerial support will make a difference. If it means saving lives, civilian and police, then I’m going to do it. My career be damned.”

She stared at him, her mouth slack.

“Fumiko?”

Her jaw clenched and her lips pressed into a thin line. Still gripping him like iron, she twisted his wrist.

“Ow, hey!” he yelped.

He struggled against her as she wrenched his arm behind his back and in a scuffle of shoes, she threw her hips into him, pinning him against his desk. Desperately, he reached with his free hand, grabbing the desktop to keep from falling. The jangle of handcuffs followed.

“Are you arresting me?!” he exclaimed.

“It’s for your own good,” she replied icily and with a snap, the cuff latched onto his wrist.

“My own good?!”

She yanked his other arm back and he plunged forward, his face slamming onto his desktop in a plume of flying papers.

“And you were calling me insane!” he growled as he tried to regain his balance.

“This isn’t insanity,” she said, slapping the second cuff onto his wrist with a ratcheting click. “This is keeping you from getting into anymore trouble than you’re already in.”

“Thanks for looking out for me,” he spat sarcastically, wrestling against her hold, “But I don’t have time to play this game with you! I have to go!”

“We have to go,” she corrected, and she grabbed the nape of his vest and hauled him upright. “You were going to use aerial support to meet up with the demon? Sounds like the perfect time for us to arrest him. Maybe then the chief inspector will look the other way despite your antics for the last few days.”

She swung him towards the elevator, and he pushed back against her, grappling for control with only his height as leverage. Gritting her teeth, she thrust him forward, one embattled step at a time. Around them, the bullpen continued to bustle with men and women hurrying to their assignments, heedless of anything else.

“Why is no one noticing you arresting me?” he asked between grunts as he fought her.

“I think the better question is why aren’t you yelling for their help?”

He sighed.

“That’s what I thought.”

With a final push, she shoved him into the waiting elevator car. Following him in, she punched the button for roof access.

He slumped against the rear wall of the elevator. “Fumiko—"

She held up a finger, silencing him.

And the elevator doors closed.

OOOOOOOOOO

With their leather-soled shoes slapping hardwood, a team of men rushed down the hallway. The muraled walls few past them as they ran, their eyes following the gleam shed by incandescent light. Then one of them slowed. Something in the gleam had caught his attention. It was hard to see. Faint wear along a seam in the painting and scuffs spoiling the buffed floor. For most, they were innocuous details meant to be missed. For him, they were the signs they were searching for.

The others slid to surround him as he approached the wall, his fingers fluttering down the seam he’d spied. And when he found the hidden handle, he grinned cruelly and wrenched the secret door open. Behind him, the others waited, their pistols racked and ready.

But only lavishly decorated emptiness awaited them. And the endless cityscape through the bay of windows.

Growling with disappointment, they moved on, hunting for another seam. For more scuffs on the floor. The Kuro-Sakura’s former oyabun, Kurosawa Raiden, had called them to arms, revealing the lies their clan had told. A foreign woman led them, her rule an affront to their generational traditions founded on fraternal bonds. And moreover, she harbored their enemy, offering her sanctuary when she should be killed as a lesson to those who oppose them, especially at the expense of the demon.

They could stand for none of it and through their bloody coup, they would make it right. Though they were Shikai, they’d make Kurosawa their oyabun. He deserved their castle from which to reign.

Another seam. 

Another scuff.

They crowded around the wall, their winded breathing raspy. Fingers probed, searching for the handle and when they found it, they unlocked it with a soft click. The door glided down the track and inside they discovered a scowling Ishida laid up in bed. Flanking him on either side, waited two women in kimonos, their finery dyed in their clan’s colors. 

Menacing sneers spread across their lips.

One of them was the one they wanted, but they would take them both to be sure.

Then the icy nip of a winter morning blew through them, stealing their twisted elation. Their teeth chattered and fingers numbed, and as they exhaled a gasp, their breath fogged the air. Before them, they saw bodies sunk in the snow. Yet before they could think, they blinked, and the snow evaporated, leaving the bodies behind. They were their Shikai brothers, strewn amid broken furniture and shattered vases, their painful wheezing the only sign of life. 

With her bare feet propped up on a pile two men deep, a woman with dark skin and burning, opalescent eyes watched them from the comfort of an armchair. In her hand, she swirled a glass of merlot before taking a sip.

The men shifted nervously.

“Leave your guns and go back the way you came, traitors,” Oya ordered, her look the embodiment of regal dispassion, “And I will permit you to escape for today. Do otherwise and you will share your brethren’s fate.”

The men eyed each other, their guns suddenly heavy in their hands. There was no mistaking her. She was the foreign impostor from the video. A girl playing at being their father. And yet…

Along a shadowy tree line, a predator watched them, eyes aglow with opalescent fire.

With a heavy thud, a gun struck the floor. A man at the rear of the team disappeared, his footfalls echoing down the hall as he ran.

A few others took a step back, tempted.

“What of your pride?” the man at the fore snarled at them, his rage twisting his face. “We’re reclaiming our clan. Taking back what’s ours from this foreigner and instead, you’re cowering before her? You dishonor yourselves.”

Indignant, she observed him and waited.

“She’s nothing compared to us,” he added coldly, bringing his gun to bear on her. “She’s not our oyabun. She’s not our family. She has no right to be here leading us.”

Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply through her nose and with a note of sadness, she replied. “Everyone is always a disappointment.”

The gun barked, rupturing the air with a deafening crack.

Cotton exploded from the back of the armchair, its seat empty.

The man inhaled expensive perfume mixed with the earthy scent of merlot. She stood beside him, looming even though she was shorter. Illuminating his face, her bright glare penetrated him, stealing his resolve and setting him trembling.

Deliberately, she leaned in and spoke into his ear, “You should have accepted my grace.”

Then she was a blur of motion, plucking guns from their hands and crumpling them as if they were toys. The glass of wine sloshed but never spilled, cradled gently as she cracked their ribs and broke their jaws with open-handed blows. Most collapsed senseless, unconscious bliss striking them faster than agony. But a special few hit the ground awake, sputtering as they groaned and clasped at their sides.

The first man remained, untouched, his body still trembling.

Reveling in his fear, she sneered and started to circle him.

Closing his eyes, he swallowed, finding his nerve.

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered.

“What doesn’t matter?” she asked, taking another sip from her glass.

“You.”

Her sneer sobered to a scowl.

“You’re a monster,” he continued, clenching his fists. “An abomination. And whether or not we die today, we’ve still won. You’ve been ousted and our honor is intact, because no one will follow you ever again.”

Her eyes narrowed and a wintry gale blew through him.

“So, keep your empty castle,” he stuttered through chattering teeth. “We’re your family no more. We never were.”

Her wine glass rang out brightly as it struck the floor, shattering.

“Oya-sama!” Ishida shouted.

She reached out, grabbing the man by his collar. The floor slipped away from his scrabbling feet as she hauled him up into the air. Prying at her fingers, he struggled uselessly against her iron grip.

Her rage panned to the rippling tarp covering the broken window.

“Oya-sama!” Ishida shouted again, his hand fumbling with his bedrail. “Wait!”

“If none of you were ever my family…” she snarled.

“Oya-sama!”

“…Then you can leave my home.”

The man flew. His body ripped the tarp from its mooring as he shot through the window. The plastic wrapped around him, and together, they disappeared from sight. Then his screaming began.

Her chest heaving, she listened to his terror.

Until it stopped with a grunt.

Frowning, she approached the gaping window.

Standing tall on the side of the tower below, the demon stared up at her, his eyes molten fire. Over his shoulder, he bore the man tangled in the tarp who muttered prayers. With a hard stomp, he shattered a window. Shimmering shards fell towards the hazy ground in the distance. Keeping his attention on her, the demon blindly tossed the man through the jagged opening, a generous reprieve from a far worse fate.

Power poured from her, swirling about her and catching her braids.

And she stepped through the gaping window, her weightless body orienting as she walked out onto the face of her castle to meet her foe.


	56. Reunion

Chapter Fifty-Six: Reunion

Sesshoumaru stood.

The thick glass pane creaked under the soles of his boots, scratching inside its frame. Whipping around his ankles, vortices of youki pulled and pushed against the window, fluttering his tucked pantlegs and binding him in place. Shimmering silver and swaying in the wind, his hair flowed behind him, claimed by the gravity he had yet to feel. 

Beyond his mane, in the hazy distance at his back, the sprawling city basked in the golden throes of late afternoon. Muffled by the buffeting wind, he could hear the discordant song of police sirens echoing through the concrete canyons. A city in chaos, swept up by a ferocious storm. And like all hurricanes, the eye retained a surreal stillness, an uneasy reprieve that only foretold violence. 

Barefoot in a crisp, white pantsuit, this storm’s eye approached.

“Welcome to my castle,” Oya greeted, her tone snide and bitter. She strolled down the face of the tower towards him, her long braids swirling behind her, ignoring the pull of gravity.

He stared at her, letting his molten glare in the shadow of his mask speak for him.

“You must forgive me and my lack of hospitality at the moment,” she continued, thrusting her chin out defiantly. “There’s a bit of family drama going on.”

Coolly, he spied down through the shattered window beside his boot. Collapsed on an office floor, the man he had saved wheezed painfully, his body still entangled in the tarp. 

“Ungrateful children,” she said with disgust. “You shelter and provide for them, and by that love and generosity, they believe they’re entitled to all that you have.”

His attention returned to her.

“Still,” she continued, “Their disappointing lack of appreciation did provide me with one measure of satisfaction. It forced you to slink out of your hole and face me. Not even capturing one of your females accomplished that.”

His eyes hardened. “Where is Higurashi-san?”

She laughed darkly. “You needn’t concern yourself about that woman. Her injuries are superficial at most, and not from lack of trying on her part either.”

Tilting his nose up, he scented the air. Despite the city’s muddying redolence, the wind blew in his favor and he caught her profile emanating from the hole in the penthouse floor above. Kagome and Tora would find her. They would escape. All he needed to do was hold his ground long enough for them to succeed.

He gazed down at his fist laced in glowing hot metal. He still had time.

Then a snowflake floated past his head, tumbling sideways towards the window beneath his boots. More followed, becoming a glittering curtain that blanketed the face of the tower in a drift. He scanned the white field, steam curling from the snarling maw of his mask and a chill nipping at his skin.

“You’re stronger than you were when we first met,” she noted, then nodded towards his gauntlets. “Kept yourself busy while you were cowering? A waste of time really. Toys made for youkai trash are nothing before celestial might. They provide the illusion of power and nothing more.”

He snorted. “Illusions are all that you have. You may conjure elements of the forest and your army of followers, but none of them are real. Dispel them and all that’s left is your bruised pride. And eternal loneliness.”

“You’re just like that woman,” she scoffed, and she squared her body with his, every muscle promising violence. “But neither of you know anything.”

“No, I’m finally free from that cruel ignorance,” he assured, and he raised his right fist. A green, phosphorescent vapor flowed from his hand, enveloping it. “When we first fought, you called me a husk in the skin of a daiyoukai. Shall we discover if that’s still the case… hanyou?”

With a growl, she took flight, sprinting down towards him.

“Poison whip.”

The vapor around his hand condensed, forming a brilliant, green filament. Sizzling with acid, the whip grew, arcing from his fingertips.

She closed the distance in a leap, her fist drawn back, welling with power.

He swept towards her, and his whip scythed upward, snaring her by the arm. With a quick jerk, she was gone, tethered, as he yanked her down and smashed her through a window ten stories below in a sparkling hail of glass and snow.

He stared at the dark gap, watching as tinkling shards rained down on the city below.

Then a boom reverberated through the tower, causing the window beneath him to rattle.

Another boom swiftly followed, closer.

Then another.

All around him, the powdery snow sank, turning to slush. Wary, he stepped back, sloshing in the puddling water, and through his rubber soles, he felt a boiling heat radiating outward.

His eyes widened, and he leapt back as a plume of iridescent fire incinerated the window, chased by a blur in white. Wreathed in flame, Oya exploded through the molten glass. Her eyes blazing with rage, she sprang towards him, her body rotating in space, and her foot arcing in a downward kick. 

His whip blinked out and he raised his arms, bracing for the blow.

With a resounding crack, the strike ruptured the air. Glass exploded, spraying shards, and the metal window frame underneath him crumpled. But he held, his gauntlets bright. And with one arm still bearing against her, he launched his fist, aglow with acid.

Nimbly, she flipped backward, narrowly dodging his punch.

But he wasn’t done. In a shower of snow, he barreled after her, throwing his weight into a flurry of blows. His elegant partner, she danced away, dodging and weaving, letting his acid singe only the air. Enviable in their grace, they fell into a violent rhythm, his bold and direct offense versus her elegant evasion. But his real target was her penchant for complacency. Hubris was a weakness he knew well.

She pivoted towards the right, and he smirked.

He moved to punch with his left, then feinted, throwing her off guard and leaving her open for a right hook. Growling satisfaction rumbled in his throat when he felt his fist hit her jaw.

Another crack echoed as his blow sent her cartwheeling up the face of the tower. With an acrobatic twist, she righted herself, sliding across the glass in a powdery wake of snow until she slowed to a stop.

Exuding confidence, she stood up. Raw and blistering, her skin had peeled away from her cheek, exposing pitted, pink flesh. Blood wept from the wound, and along the edges, the acid still bubbled.

He clenched his fist and the green vapor consuming it flared menacingly.

“No, you’re no longer a husk wearing the skin of a daiyoukai,” she admitted, working her jaw. Then she brushed the back of her hand against her burned cheek and a soft radiance swelled where she touched. 

For a moment, the scent of fresh grass thriving after a spring rain filled his nose.

And when her hand passed across her cheek, it wiped away the wound, revealing warm, brown skin, whole and unblemished.

He scowled.

“Instead,” she explained with a contemptuous smile, “If I’m the bearer of illusions and nothing more, then you are the lord of delusion.” She nodded towards his gauntlets. “How much of your power do those weapons eat? And in a battle of attrition, I wonder which of us has more? I think you already know the answer.”

His eyes narrowed. High on her forehead, he spotted a tiny bead of perspiration.

“It’s only a delusion if it’s not true,” he replied, then sprinted towards her, his fist ready.

OOOOOOOOOO

A boom shuddered the building, sending flakes of plaster tumbling from the ceiling.

With a hustle in her step, Kagome headed down the narrow hallway. Deep and endless, a labyrinthian forest surrounded her on rice paper walls, its lush watercolor achingly beautiful. She held out her hand, letting her gloved fingertips flutter along the panels until they collided with the hard edge of a frame. Pausing a moment, she shook it, hoping for a rattle, but it held firm. Just another piece of the wall. Then she moved on, her search beginning again.

Tora gasped.

She looked up. Further down the hallway, she spotted him, his hand on a panel frame. He gave it a gentle shake and she could hear it rattle in its track. A door. She jogged to him, biting her lip as she watched his hands glide up and down it, seeking the hidden handle.

A click.

He laughed soundlessly, giddy with success. 

Sharing only a look, they both flanked the door, their weapons in hand. He reached out from the side, taking the handle, and starting from three, she nodded a countdown to zero.

He slid open the door.

And only the whisper of air conditioning flowing through a vent awaited them.

Peeking in, he called out softly. “Higurashi-san?”

Following suit, Kagome joined him. “Mama?”

Elegantly arranged, leather lounge chairs and antique furniture filled the room, but it might as well have been empty. Another dead end in a maze filled with them.

Louder than the last, another boom thundered, and a black crack radiated across the bay of windows, splitting the cityscape in half.

“Damn it,” he muttered, and he brushed away the sweat dappling his forehead. “This is taking too long.”

She sighed, his anxiety a reflection of her own. When they had begun their search, they had prepared for open office space or corridors lined with suites. Anything but this verdant labyrinth that hoarded its secrets. Protected them from both friend and foe. If they had infinite time, they could keep playing it patient and safe. 

The building quaked again and more glass fissured.

But if Sesshoumaru was risking himself, then they would, too. Caution was a convenience they couldn’t afford anymore. And her throat itched with a name she missed and desperately wanted to find.

“Mama!” she shouted, surprised by the worry wavering her voice. 

Tora stared at her, taken aback.

“Mama!” she shouted again.

Then he nodded, understanding. “Higurashi-san!”

They waited in the silence, listening intently, but there was no reply. Just ventilating air.

Together, they headed out into the hallway. Lightly jogging ahead, he took point as they began to yell, heedless of the noise.

“Mama!”

“Higurashi-san!”

She paused eyeing him. “Why do you keep calling my mother by our last name?”

He blew out a breath laced with exasperation. “Because your mom thinks it’s funny to keep it a secret, and I’m stubbornly waiting for her to accidentally let it slip.”

She snorted, suppressing a laugh. “You’ll be waiting for a while then. My mother always wins.”

He smiled to himself. “Guess that means we’ll be playing for a long time to come, because if there’s one thing I hate, it’s losing.”

Hope swelled in her heart.

Feeling it, too, his pace quickened. “Higurashi-san!”

“Mama!”

And in the pause, someone answered back, muffled yet unmistakable. “Kagome-chan?!”

They glanced at each other, their shared surprise assuring them that it wasn’t their imagination. Somewhere nearby, she was here. They were certain of it. Then they were gone, sprinting down the hallway.

“Higurashi-san?!” he shouted.

Holding her breath, Kagome strained for the silence between their thudding footfalls, listening.

“Kagome-chan?! Tora?!” Mama called out, her voice high with emotion.

She was behind them and with boots squeaking, they slid to a stop. Quickly, they raced back towards a set of panels. Fingers slid up its frame, and with a click, the hidden door unlocked. Tora slid it down its track and the hallway filled with daylight.

Backlit by the city, Mama stood in the center of the room, her hand covering her mouth and tears welling in her eyes.

“Kagome-chan?” she whispered in disbelief. “Tora?”

Her own tears spilling down her cheeks, Kagome burst forward, crushing into her, and her arms wrapped around her in a fierce hug. Cool silk against her face instead of cotton felt wrong, but she was soft and warm, but more than anything, her scent was right. She was real. They’d found her.

“I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you again,” Mama said, nuzzling her daughter’s hooded head. “But I knew if I survived. If I was patient and just survived, you’d find me. My heroes.”

“Of course,” Tora assured, grinning from beneath his mask. “The knights are supposed to rescue the princess. What else could we do?”

Looking up, she beamed at him, and then with a welcoming wave, she begged him to join them. 

But before he could take a step, another boom shook the building and clumps of plaster struck the floor.

“We’ve got to go,” he said, eyeing the crumbling ceiling. Then he reached out to take her shoulder. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Wait,” Mama said, and she turned to look at the far side of the room.

Watching them in silence, two strangers waited. Dressed in the same finery as Mama, there was a young woman, and beside her, sitting up in a medical bed, was a man in a suit.

Kagome gasped.

“Don’t worry, child,” Ishida growled, his face permanently etched with a scowl. “I don’t bear you or any of your clan ill will. Game recognizing game and all that. Just take your mother and get out of here.”

Mama blinked with shock, then softly smiled.

“Our clan has disintegrated,” he added, “And Lady Oya already has who she wants. There’s no more reason to keep you here.” Then he nodded towards Yukina. “My only price is that you take her with you.”

“No, Ishida-sama,” Yukina objected.

He turned to her and lied. “I’ll be right behind you. I just have some unfinished clan business to take care of before I leave.”

“Why don’t we take care of it now, Ishida-san?” a man snarled menacingly from the hallway. “And bring this little family drama to an end.”

Matte black, a gun raised.

Squeezing Kagome close, Mama turned, putting her back to the doorway.

And with echoing barks, gunshots popped.


	57. Honor for the Dishonorable

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Honor for the Dishonorable

A single, constant tone, ringing pierced Kagome’s ears, drowning out the scream she felt vibrating in her throat.

In hues of green on ivory, the elegant print of maple leaves filled her vision, wrapping her with silken comfort. With it cool against her cheek, memories of Goshinboku flooded over her. She remembered its refreshing shade sheltering her from the blistering sun. Its thick, sturdy trunk and gnarled roots, a bulwark in every storm. She could feel it, then and now. The constant in her life across the centuries. Always there for her. Supporting her. Loving her.

A spray of red dappled the winding branches, turning summer into fall.

And then the tree fell.

With a maternal fierceness, her mother hugged her tight, shielding her with her body as bullets perforated the air. Searing and bright, pain erupted from Kagome's right arm, stripping away her reverie, as a black and red jacket filled her vision, eclipsing maple leaves.

“Tora!” she felt her mouth yell.

Grimacing, he collided into them, his arms wide, enveloping them both. They buckled against the force of his embrace, their feet giving out from underneath them, and time crawled as the floor slowly reached up to catch them.

With a grunt, Kagome struck the hardwood, the wind in her lungs bursting from her. Mama and Tora collapsed on top of her, and in her agony, she struggled to breathe from under their weight.

The ringing in her ears subsided and she could hear the world again. The distant city rushing through a broken window. Stuttering sobs from across the room. And an anguished wheeze that sounded oddly familiar.

“Mama?” she whimpered, her voice cracking. “Mama?”

The wheezing continued.

“Mama?”

Her mother groaned. 

“Mama?!”

“I’m here,” she whispered. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

With tears streaming down her face, Kagome flushed with relief, and she squeezed her mother close. The tree hadn’t fallen yet. 

The wheezing started to sputter, tired and wet, and blood spread across the floor.

Mama stiffened. “Tora?”

Silence replied.

“Tora?!”

“Sorry,” he slurred, and his body shuddered as he began to cough.

Struck with terror, they both scrambled out from beneath his body. Bloodied by a pair of bullet wounds, his arms hung limp at his sides, and his back was riddled with crushed metal, each glinting from tattered holes in his vest. The Kevlar had held, and at least for now, he was still alive.

The baton in his hand clattered onto the floor and the pool of blood grew.

“We need to stop the bleeding,” Kagome said firmly, the fear she had felt gone. She didn’t have that luxury any longer.

Mama nodded, and she reached behind her, grabbing the end of her obi sash. With a yank, she unfurled it. Her kimono came undone, revealing her underclothes, but she paid it no mind as she ripped the sash in half with her teeth. Quickly, she started to bind his arms, applying pressure to the wounds and stemming his blood loss.

“Noble,” a man taunted from the doorway. “A family of heroes.”

Kagome’s eyes flew to him and her jaw clenched with rage.

Exuding smug satisfaction, he strolled into the room, sporting a white, Armani suit and a red, floral print shirt. His aviators gleamed, casting his eyes in gold.

“Kurosawa, you bastard,” Ishida snarled, and his hand felt under the pillow behind his back.

In a swift, fluid motion, Kurosawa ejected the magazine in his pistol and slammed a fresh one into it with a clack. 

“Uh-uh, I wouldn’t do that, Ishida-san,” he warned, leveling the pistol at him. “Don’t you want to wallow in shame for a few minutes longer? Live long enough to watch your dynasty fall and witness the new dawn for this city? Perhaps for all of Japan?”

Another snarl bubbled from Ishida, but he made no further move.

An arrogant smirk spread across Kurosawa’s face. “That’s what I thought.” Without wavering his aim, he spied down at the heroes, and disdain curled his lip. “I must say, you would have had a little more time to quake in fear had it not been for your noisy rat problem. The top floor of this forsaken tower is a damn maze, no matter how many times I’ve come here. And yet, in a maze, who better to follow to the prize than a couple hapless rodents?”

Kagome’s glare hardened.

“You’re a fool, Raiden,” Ishida chided. “Ever since you were in your father’s shadow. You’ve never learned. Never changed. And you know what? You never escaped it. You live in that darkness.”

A distant boom rumbled through the tower.

“Live in that darkness?” Kurosawa sneered. “I thrive there. Where is the pride in governing a clan weakened by equity? I seized what I deserved and claimed my place as the only oyabun, my brothers be damned. Kuro-Sakura was mine. The streets ran red, I couldn’t have cared less.”

Ishida scoffed.

“You condemn me?” Kurosawa said, and he spat on the floor. “The hypocrisy you spew disgusts me. A bloodless conquest is still a conquest. You and that freakish whore you worship stole everything from me.” 

“We gave you more power than you could have ever hoped for. You were a prince ruling a muddy pond when we offered you a lordship in the sea.”

“No, you drained my pond into your sea. You consumed my clan, and you’re shocked by my thirst for vengeance? Who’s blinded by pride now?” Coolly, he stepped over Tora, slithering his way towards Ishida’s bed. “But I should thank you and your monster. After today, my ego mustn’t be satisfied with a pond when the sea awaits, because you have indeed given me more power than I could have ever hoped for.”

Rage bubbling inside, Kagome stared at his back, given to her by hubris as he approached the bed. She glanced down, spotting her compound bow lying on the floor beside her and her quiver at her hip. The fight wasn’t over yet.

Soundlessly, she scooped up her bow and climbed to her feet. But as she took an arrow from her quiver and nocked it, searing pain shot through her arm, nearly staggering her. One of the bullets had grazed her and she hadn’t even realized it. Gritting her teeth until they ached, she pulled back the bowstring.

“I’m a bit tired of egos and metaphors,” she growled through the pain, her aim centered on his back. “So, I’ll make this simple. Drop your gun and lie face down on the floor. Or something will run red that you do care about.”

He paused and peered back at her, a sly smile carving his expression.

“My dear,” a man rasped from the doorway. “Put your bow down before you get hurt.”

From the corner of her eye, she spied him entering the room. His bald head gleamed, dappled with sweat, and his gray skin clung to his gaunt features. He regarded her with sunken eyes, and in his hand, he gripped a pistol, its aim on her.

She didn’t waver.

“Hyousuke,” Kurosawa said as the man approached his side. “Put a bullet in her.”

Mama gasped. “No.”

“Do it, and this arrow goes right through your boss,” Kagome threatened. “Right through his heart.”

Kurosawa snorted. “Doubtful, little girl.”

“My family is in this room,” she snapped, her arrow tip remaining steady and centered. “If you understood what that meant, you’d know what I’d be willing to do. I’ve faced monsters crueler than you. I destroyed them, too.”

Another boom shook the building, and the floor lurched.

Her knees bending, she rode the wave, her aim fixed like a falcon’s gaze in flight. She sensed her mother leaning forward, protecting Tora. And she watched her enemies struggle to keep their footing in expensive, leather-soled shoes. If only there had been just one gun. If only she hadn’t already been shot. Any other time and she’d be faster than them both. She wasn’t ready to die yet. She still had a job to do. Her family needed her, in both the past and present, because it was her destiny to be the thread that binds.

Another pistol sprung forward.

“Go ahead, girl,” Ishida said coolly, the gun from under his pillow in his hand and he leveled it at Hyousuke. “Kill the bastard.”

Kurosawa chuckled, his twisted amusement brightening as Yukina stepped in front of the bed, putting herself between the two men.

“Yukina!” Ishida shouted. “Get out of the way!”

“It’s okay, Ishida-sama,” she whispered, her eyes burning fiercely. “Oya-sama needs you, so I’ll be your shield. I’m small, so you can aim around me, and I’ll protect you, so you’ll be able to protect her.”

“Silly girl,” he growled. “She needs us both.”

“Would we be her clan of three?” she asked. “Visiting the gardens together when the cherry blossoms fall in the spring and the leaves turn in the autumn?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“Then she won’t forgive us if we both die. If we leave her and she’s alone in the world again. I know what it feels like to have no one. How it hurts.”

He swallowed.

“Swear that you’ll win,” she pled. “That you’ll live for her.”

He paused, then nodded. “I swear.”

“Foolish sacrifices,” Kurosawa laughed belligerently, his fangs flashing. “Are you finished with your noble vows? The reality is that you’ll both die here. But if it soothes your fragile hearts, know that the monster won’t be long behind you. As soon as she’s done killing the demon, I’ll put a bullet in her, too. When I’m done, you all can wander the gardens of hell together.”

“Oya-jii,” Hyousuke croaked, eyeing the web of weapons entangling them. “Perhaps with some patience, we can seize your birthright another way—”

“No,” Kurosawa snapped. “I will have what’s mine now and with interest.”

Fire radiated through Kagome’s arm and shoulder, setting her trembling. She could barely feel the taught bowstring through the violent ache. Blood dripped from her elbow, spattering on the floor, and the tip of her arrow began to waver.

Feebly, Tora felt at the floor until his fingers discovered his lost baton and he took it.

The windows rattled, and a thundering boom rose from deep within the tower.

“If you live only for yourself,” Ishida said with cold finality, glaring at Kurosawa. “Then in the end, that’s all you’ll have.”

“I don’t need anyone else but myself,” he replied. “No one else matters.”

The floor began to quake.

Ishida snorted. “Then you’ll get exactly what you deserve.”

The shockwave struck and the room heaved.

Muffled by the rumbling, blue sparks snapped and sizzled from the end of the baton, and with a grunt, Tora jammed it into Kurosawa’s leg. Electricity coursed through him, seizing his body with rigid convulsions.

Gunshots popped as his finger clenched the trigger, his jerking muscles wrenching his aim upwards, and puffs of plaster exploded from the ceiling.

“Oya-jii!” Hyousuke shouted, his gun falling free from his hand. He burst forward, launching himself at Kurosawa.

With tears streaking her cheeks, Kagome reached her limit, and her arrow flew, the strength in her fingers gone.

Throwing his shoulder forward, Hyousuke collided with Kurosawa, shoving him aside as his own back erupted with splashes of red chased by loud pops from Ishida’s gun.

The arrow struck deep, boring through Kurosawa’s shoulder and ripping a scream from him through gritted teeth. His feet slipped out from beneath him and he collapsed onto the floor, spasming in agony.

“Hyousuke!” he yelled, spit flying from his mouth. “Hyousuke, shoot them!”

Kagome sunk to her knees, grasping at her bloody arm.

“Hyousuke! Kill them now!”

Mama pulled Tora close, and he let the baton fall to stroke her cheek.

“Hyousuke! You need to kill them. It’s your duty. Where are you?”

“He did his duty,” Ishida said staidly as he lowered the railing on his hospital bed. Yukina flew to his side, extending her arm for him to take.

“What are you talking about?” Kurosawa snapped.

“Look at your feet, you fool.”

With his cheek pressed against the floor, he inched his face downward until he spied the gray pate of his follower and the lake of blood that surrounded his lifeless body.

“Hyousuke?” he whispered.

“An honorable man,” Ishida remarked, leaning heavily against Yukina’s slight frame as she guided him to the head of the bed and the exquisite katana that hung on the wall above it. “His devotion was infallible to the end, even if it was in service to a lord as corrupt and selfish as you. He deserved a better father. A better family.”

“Hyousuke?” he whispered again.

Wincing, Ishida reached up and plucked the sword from its mount before turning on his heel to face Kurosawa. “Every time I’ve had the discourtesy of seeing you, you remind me of what you believe is your birthright. What you deserve by the merit of your bloodline. What’s yours, both in property and in people. What’s yours by blood even if it’s not by heart.”

“Wait…” Kurosawa whimpered, and he held up his arm weakly. “Let’s talk—"

He unsheathed the sword, its blade glinting bright. “I think it’s time you’re given what you deserve by the merit of your actions. “Usually, it’s a pinky from the left hand, but since you’re always demanding more than your share…”

Kurosawa gasped in terror. 

The sword scythed downward, severing his left arm above the elbow. Shrieks pierced the air as he feebly grabbed at what remained, desperate to stem the bloodloss.

Ishida let the tainted sword clatter onto the floor. “Now you’ve received what you deserve.”


	58. Leap of Faith

Chapter Fifty-Eight: Leap of Faith

In a shower of shattered glass, Sesshoumaru leapt back, his feet skipping down of the face of the tower. The shards outpaced him, tinkling as they plummeted towards the ground, a dizzying distance below. Around him, the tattered tails of his tunic flapped in the wind, along with his billowing mane of hair. Ash mottled him in black and rivulets of sweat streaked his skin. His mouth parted and he began to pant, catching his breath.

But for the weariness adorning his body, his eyes burned bright behind his battle-worn mask.

He glared into the smoke pouring from the fissure in the tower above him. Jagged glass carved the edges of the crater like a cruel smile, and in the blackness, he could see the twisted support beams, their ends glowing molten gold. Then a pair of iridescent eyes pierced the darkness and a silhouette appeared.

Smoke curling away from her body, Oya emerged. Her once-white, now shredded blazer hung off her body, revealing her green blouse and patches of skin reticulated by shimmering pearlescence. Matching him, she glistened with sweat and her chest heaved as she gulped down air.

Casually, he cracked his neck. Even aided by his weapons, their difference in power felt like a gulf. She was a celestial beast after all. And yet, experience mattered. You don’t become a seasoned warrior by only crushing weak opponents, and he’d at least fought a few real battles in his life. Wear her down and buy time. It was all he needed to do. He had nothing else to prove.

With her thumb, she swiped away the blood trickling from her mouth, and a spark of power sealed the wound. Then she looked over her shoulder and glanced up at the top of the tower.

“No more snowdrifts?” he sneered coolly, eyeing the melted water that defied gravity by puddling on the building. “What became of your illusions, hanyou? Too expensive to express when true battle arises? Or more honestly, are they simply pointless when you must face reality itself as a lord of an empty castle?”

“Your taunts are poorly veiled,” she growled back, rolling her shoulders. “What do you know of reality and its empty castles? How many centuries have you gone without a home and a family?”

His eyes narrowed and he watched her as she started to shed her blazer. Pinned only by a couple buttons, her tattered blouse fluttered open, exposing the spider on her chest, and he felt his own scar itch.

Her lip curled with contempt. “No one who’s ever suffered from exile would speak so flippantly about that pain.”

Her blazer fell free, fluttering towards him, obscuring his view. Crouching slightly, he readied for her attack, his senses afire and his claws green with acid.

Gunfire popped at the crest of the tower.

And when the blazer passed by him, she was gone. He spotted her as she sprinted away towards the penthouse suite, and her scorn about empty castles tightened in his chest. 

He leapt forward for the chase, but his boot slipped and for a moment, gravity retook him. Summoning his youki, he regained his footing, and then looked down at his gauntlets. The magnesium white with which they burned had dimmed to a tarnished gray. The battle had been costly, and he hadn’t much youki left. 

His eyes returned to her and he gritted his teeth. None of it mattered without his family and his city. He’d save them. No matter what it took.

Power surged around him, tugging at his clothes, and he flew after her, his boots shattering glass as he ran.

OOOOOOOOOO

Springing through the gaping window at the penthouse floor, Oya burst into the room, her bare feet slipping on pooled blood. Her eyes turned wild at the gore but were instantly soothed when she spotted Ishida sitting on the bed and Yukina kneeling on the floor.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice edged by both fear and rage. “Are you all right?”

“We’re unharmed,” Ishida assured, then nodded towards Yukina as she bound a ripped pillowcase around what remained of Kurosawa’s arm. “And the disloyal dog has been defanged and sentenced to live with his shame.”

“Hyousuke…” Kurosawa murmured weakly. “Hyousuke, get up.”

Baring her teeth, she regarded him with disgust and balled up her fists. “It’s not enough. Only his death will bring me satisfaction.”

“Oya-sama,” Ishida shouted, rising from the bed, his body leaning heavily on the footboard. “He’s done. It’s all done.”

“It’s not enough,” she repeated, and her nails dug into her palm, sending blood trickling. “He betrayed me. He took everything I had and destroyed it.”

“You never had it,” Mama said.

Oya spun towards her, her expression slack with surprise. She had forgotten about her. Seated on her knees with Tora’s head on her lap, Mama gazed up at her, exuding kindness. Then Oya’s attention panned the room, discovering more invaders she hadn’t seen.

“You never had it,” Mama repeated.

“Mama, don’t…” Kagome pled with one hand gripping her bow and the other dead at her side.

“It’s all right, Kagome-chan,” she soothed. “It’s time for the truth. For reality to be shared.”

Oya scoffed. “The truth?”

Mama looked to her. “Yes, the truth.”

“And what is that?”

“That you never had what you’ve lost because none of it was real. This family you created from your pain and loss never existed.” She sighed, her heart a well of empathy. “But that doesn’t mean that you don’t have family. That you don’t have people who care about you.”

“Oya-sama,” Ishida said, reaching out. “It’s done.”

She looked at him and his outstretched hand, then her tone took on a strange finality. “No, I’m done. With this world and its disappointments. It’s never enough. It never will be.”

The ceiling began to rattle, and on the roof beyond it, a helicopter’s rotors wound up in a growing whir.

And she was gone, through the window in a gust of wind.

“Oya-sama!”

A streak of silver and red, Sesshoumaru breached the window, his claws ready for the violence that had already passed. He hesitated as he took in the scene, his nostrils flaring.

“Sesshoumaru!” Kagome shouted, “She’s on the roof! There’s a helicopter and she’s going to get away!”

“I saw,” he replied coolly, “But you and Tora are wounded, and so we must go. Rescuing your mother is what we set out to do and with the yakuza clan having destroyed itself, their threat is no longer immediate.”

“Please,” Yukina implored, her eyes glossy with tears. “I’ve seen the stories online. You’re a hero, aren’t you? If so, then please save her. She and Ishida are all the family I have.”

He looked down at the girl, her lap drenched in blood and her hands tending to the wound of her enemy.

With a loud, ungainly thump, Ishida collapsed onto his knees facing Sesshoumaru. Then, with a painful hiss, he leaned forward in a deep bow. “As her loyal lieutenant, it was my duty to protect her. I beg you, please succeed where I failed. Bring her back to us. We’ll live in peace, this I swear to you. Just bring her back.”

“She’s a victim, too,” Mama added, “She lost everything centuries ago. Just like you did. But for her, the only family she had left regarded her with contempt. They were family by blood but not by heart.”

“Like Amaya,” Tora whispered.

A lonely girl perched on a hotel balcony, committed to a final leap, filled Sesshoumaru’s thoughts, and he nodded, understanding. “I will save her. You have my word as the guardian of this city.”

He turned to spring out the window, then paused. “And your escape?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Kagome assured. “Just go.”

“There’s a secret elevator and tunnel to safety,” Ishida said as he clambered back onto his feet. “No others are aware of it. On my honor, I will personally ensure that your family escapes unharmed.”

Sesshoumaru eyed the man, assessing his resolve, and he nodded again.

Then, on clouds of youki, he leapt through the window.

OOOOOOOOOO

Biting her lip, Jin peered out the window of the police helicopter at the golden city surrounding them. Great monoliths of concrete and steel, skyscrapers leaned in as they climbed, their sharp corners and piercing antennae reaching out. Narrowly, they skirted them, keeping to the canyons in between.

The helicopter lurched, bouncing her in her seat, and she covered her mouth in a gasp. A wave of nausea followed, dappling her with perspiration.

“Are you all right, Fumiko?” Nakagawa asked, suppressing a grin behind his headset microphone. “A little bumpy for you?”

“Shut up, Nakagawa,” she grumbled under her breath, afraid to speak any louder.

“It’s just mild turbulence, inspector,” the pilot said, his smooth voice staticky over the speakers in their headsets. “It’s normal this time of day. Nothing to worry about.”

She grunted in reply and swallowed on the hard lump in her throat.

The co-pilot turned in his seat to spy back at them, his mirror-like, aviator sunglasses reflecting the source of concern that edged his voice. “Inspector, I’ve been meaning to ask… Why are you in handcuffs?”

Nakagawa chuckled nervously. “It’s nothing to worry about. I just lost a bet.”

His frown deepened. “Sir, no disrespect, but given what’s happening in the city, is this really the time to make good on a bet?”

“Uh…” he sputtered.

“Captain,” Jin interrupted, fighting back her queasiness until it was only a gurgle in her throat. “How long until we reach the tower?”

He glanced at the array of video screens on his dashboard. “We’ll have visual contact after we bank around this building ahead, ma’am.”

The helicopter leaned to the left, making the turn. And when it finished, the black tower loomed ahead.

“Holy shit…” Nakagawa gasped, his eyes wide.

Deep and jagged, massive fissures crisscrossed the face of the building. Tiny pinpricks along the gashes, fires burned and from them, plumes of smoke billowed up into the sky, casting it in an ominous haze.

“Is that someone running up the side of the building?” the co-pilot asked, his voice wavering as though he were afraid of his own words, or more, his sanity.

Her earlier fear evaporating, Jin squinted at the fleck of silver, and recognized the demon sprinting up over windows as if obeying gravity was but a whim. Ahead of him, another figure ran, dark-skinned and agile. She leapt up over the crest of the roof, twisting in the air, and blew a vortex of iridescent flame at her pursuer. He dove to the side, narrowly avoiding it.

“Gods locked in battle,” Nakagawa whispered with naked awe, then he looked at Jin. “Do you get it now? Why it’s not us versus them? Why we need to pick a side?”

She clenched her jaw.

“There’s another helicopter,” the pilot announced as they closed in, and he knocked on his window with his knuckle, “On the roof. It’s ready for take-off.”

Its rotor blades whipping, Jin spotted the green helicopter on the helipad. The woman fled across the roof and ripped the door from the aircraft, sending it skipping over the edge. She reached in and with casual effort, she tossed the pilot out to take his seat. Then the rotors surged, and the helicopter pitched forward and took off.

A step too far behind, the demon raced across the roof only to reach its edge and no further. She was gone. A shrinking dot in the distance. It was then that he turned towards them and took a few steps back.

“$%@&,” the co-pilot muttered, “Is he going to do what I think he’s going to do?”

“Damn it,” the pilot cursed, and the helicopter banked away from the roof. 

But not fast enough.

With a running start, the demon leapt, flying across the empty sky, death sprawling below him. He hit the helicopter with a heavy thud, sending it careening wildly, and metal screeched as he dug one set of claws into its thin skin. A stream of curses bled from pilots as they fought to regain control and keep from going into a deadly spin. Together, with full rudder, they steadied the helicopter.

And then came the polite knock at Jin’s window.

His clothes and hair whipping under the beating rotor overhead, the demon loomed outside her window. Soot smeared his body and black singed the tattered hems of his tunic. And across his broad, bare shoulders, she could see abrasions and bruising mottling his skin. Even having been there when he had burst through a window to catch a falling girl, he hadn’t felt as real as he did right now. As raw and tangible. It was as if for the past year, he had been something theoretical for her to consider. A concept on which to champion her ethics and not a man.

He raised his hand and pointed towards the fleeing helicopter.

“He wants us to go after the other helicopter,” Nakagawa said.

“Tokyo-Center,” the pilot said over the radio, “This is Tokyo-One-Alpha over the eastside of the Marunouchi District. We are declaring an emergency. We’re under attack. There’s a… demon attempting to hijack the aircraft.”

“Tokyo-One-Alpha,” the radio crackled back, “This is Tokyo-Center. We’re directing all other aircraft away from your area. You are cleared for an emergency landing at the district helipad.”

“Roger that, Tokyo-Center.”

The helicopter started to veer, its heading bearing back towards police headquarters.

“Wait, captain!” Nakagawa shouted, and he struggled against the restraints binding his hands. “We can’t go back yet! We need to catch that helicopter!”

“Look, I’m pilot-in-command!” he snapped at him, “And there’s a demon hanging off the side of my aircraft. I’m flying us back home.”

“I’m an inspector, so you’ll follow my orders!”

“You’re an inspector in handcuffs!” he shouted back. “I’m not doing anything you say!”

Again, the demon gave the window a gentle tap, and the red-faced yelling surrounding Jin faded into the background. She looked up at his snarling, canine mask, its sharp fangs and furrowed brow an intimidating visage. Yet, along the edges, she could see the wear. Chipped paint and deep gouges. And in the hollows of the eyes, she saw him. His irises blazed, burning away any lingering doubt she might have about his inhumanity, but gilded in them, she also spied a promise. The intensity of it made her breath seize in her chest.

He waited, his eyes unwavering as the wind tugged wildly at him.

People hesitated. They served themselves. But a hero was different. He would finish this. He just needed her help.

“We are over our weight capacity and off-balanced,” the captain argued, spit speckling his microphone, “I don’t know why you would even think we’d catch up. We’re going home.”

Nakagawa opened his mouth, a stream of frustrated vitriol ready.

“Let’s try,” Jin interrupted.

“You, too?” the co-pilot groaned.

“I’m giving you an order to try,” she explained, her voice smooth and determined. “If we start to lose altitude or you’re certain we’re in danger, then we’re done. We’ll go home. But until then, let’s try.”

Silence crackled over the speakers.

“He’s a hero and he needs us.”

The rhythmic rotors hummed overhead.

The pilot sighed. “The instant we’re in danger, we’re done.”

“Understood.”

“But I’m telling you,” he said, the engine surging as he added full power, “We’re never going to catch that other helicopter.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, spying up at the demon. “We just have to try.”


End file.
